We're All Mad Here
by youllstartariotbarbarella
Summary: "Redemption is a joke. Forgiveness is sham. No one gets out, no one gets saved, not you, not me, NOT ANYONE!" Darla said so bitter and angry she could just kill someone but the only other person with her in that house was already dead.
1. Why Are You Here?

Disclaimer: I OWN KNOW NOTHING! besides Darla ALL RIGHTS TO CHARACTERS AND STORY OR PLOTLINE INCORPORATED IN THIS WORK BELONGS TO HBO OR SOME SHIT BUT NOT. ME.

'But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked.  
>'Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: '<strong>WE'RE ALL MADE HERE<strong>. I'm mad. You're mad.'  
>'How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice.<br>'You must be,' said the Cat, 'or you wouldn't have come here.'

**- Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland  
><strong>

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><p>"Why are you here?"<p>

Godric's eyes snapped up to look at the woman who had spoken. She was shrouded in darkness and had broken his train of thought with her strange question. Before answering, Godric studied what he could see of her. She couldn't have been more than 5'2" but besides her small stature she was, for all intents and purposes, average.

"I am here because I have been captured by the Fellowship of the Sun," he responded matter-of-factly, "they wish for me to greet the sun as exclamation and proof of the power of their god."

"That sounds like some weird shit right there," Darla said rubbing her fingers over her chin, "so I guess that means you're, what? a vampire?"

She leaned in out of the shadows trying to get a better look at the 2000 year old vampire in his cage like he was some sort of oddity or show for her viewing. Darla squinted at him examining his appearance being careful not to look him in the eye while Godric in turn examined her. How could she not know what he was if she was in that church? Godric had heard the constant chatter of his captivity it seemed to be all they ever talked about.

"Ya know, you're a bit young to be so old," she said as she pulled out a cigarette box out of her back pocket.

Godric watched her intently. She had small hands that were the color russet as was the rest of her. Even her hair was on the lighter side and in the dim light as she pulled a thin white cylinder from its packaging, she looked like a sepia tone photograph. As she searched her person for a lighter Godric noticed how her foot tapped impatiently as if she was beyond anxious to fire up the cancer stick.

"Shit," she whispered her voice muffled due to the cigarette between her lips, "I suppose I could ask you for a lighter but that would be stupid huh?"

Darla had no idea what she was doing down there. She had no idea what she was doing in that shit hole sorry ass excuse for a church. It was all Betty's fault. The dumb bitch wouldn't stop chattering about that stupid Fellowship of the Sun crap. All she ever talked about was how accepting and warm they were and how they made _so_ much sense. She never mentioned they were a bunch of idiotic maniacs.

"I'm sorry I am without a lighter," he responded his tone relaying his apologies a wry smile playing on his lips.

"Nah it's alright," Darla said in defeat.

An awkward silence ensued and Darla took the time to feel pure astonishment at the fact that she was even there. What was she doing in a religious building? She was prostitute for fuck's sake. An escort on good day but it really all came down to two things, money and sex and from what she's heard those thing just don't belong in a church. Goes to show just how fucked up that place was.

"Why are _you_ here?" said Godric repeating Darla's question.

Darla thought for a moment, really concentrating because that's what she's been asking herself the moment she stepped over that holy threshold. It was maybe 7:13 pm and the evening service was going on overhead but she had taken one look at that crowd and knew that she wasn't supposed to be there. She could practically smell the hate coming of those sheep but Betty insisted that they take a seat. And as Darla made her way down the aisle in her tight low-riding jeans and V-neck shirt she felt so very ashamed. It was an ugly feeling. She really didn't have a clue why she was in that church but she knew why she was in its basement.

"I don't do well with judgment," she said motioning above her to the people up stairs.

"Perhaps a church was not the place to spend your evening," the vampire replied good-naturedly enough but Darla took one look at the vampire and knew that wasn't the 'here' that he meant.

There was no good reason why Darla was still in that church. It was a stupid idea to go there with was a dumb bitch and Darla should have known that those people were going to be just as full of shit as Betty was but Darla needed something. She was desperate. The only thing was though, when she walked into that place and heard the shit that so called pastor was spewing she realized: she wasn't that fucking desperate.

So she left she turned the fuck around and walked out of that joint. At least she would have but she didn't have a ride and it was already dark. Darla didn't really feel like getting raped or beaten on at least without getting paid. Besides it was her one night off so she had resigned herself to find some kind of closet or such to have a smoke in and wait out the service. It was quite by coincidence the she chose the basement door rather than the closet door.

"My...friend brought me along," Darla said slowly as if she were choosing her words carefully, "she's been blabbin' all damn week about how great this place is I should have stuck with my gut and told her to fuck off."

"That is how you speak to your friends?" he inquired truly curious.

He had been so out of touch with human mannerism that he was honestly interested in learning if such language was indeed exchanged between friends. Darla, who being human and only able to pick so much up from the inscrutable vampire, did not catch his sincerity. Not that Darla knew what sincerity looked like.

"And who are you now," she said just a little offended but too tired to make a real fuss, "vampire Jesus?"

Godric smiled at that inquiry, "I am actually older than the Jesus of the Christian faith," he said.

The statement would have made any other vampire quite proud but it only made Godric feel weary. Darla on the other hand thought that his statement was hilarious.

"Oh that's rich," she said, "have you told the Jim Jones wannabe that yet?"

She was of course referring to Mr. Newlin. Darla thought he was a real prick, she knew a snake when she saw one. Godric could only manage a smile that a corpse would wear to his funeral at Darla's jest. It wasn't a terrible joke per say. It was a very nice mixture of wit and pop culture but he hadn't been feeling very up to comedy lately. What is meant by lately is 'in the last 200 years or so'.

"There you go again," Darla said speaking of his weak attempt at expression. She rolled her useless cigarette between her forefinger and thumb, "you know you look even sadder when you try to smile."

Godric did not take offense. He's far too old and far too tired of being old to be offended by anything much these days.

"I am sorry that my smile displeases you," he said in a soft hollow voice.

"Pfft, yea okay," she replied not really knowing what else to say to such a queer statement.

Then the hilarity of the situation hit Darla. She was a hooker sitting in the basement of a church talking to a vampire who was older than Jesus himself. A slow sardonic smile started on her face as the irony and agony of her current situation made amusement bubble up beneath her skin. Godric watched the young woman smile and he silently wished that he too were in on the joke. Seeing her so tickled made him wish he could still find joy through inner monologue but now a day his thoughts led to mostly depressing subjects.

"The name's Darla," she offered hoping to break the silence that had somehow cropped up between them.

"My name is Godric," he said introducing himself but without much else to say another silence stretched between them.

Darla, seeing that there was really nothing else to talk about, began to think that it was time to leave. The only problem was that she didn't exactly know how to do that. She couldn't exactly leave him in there could she? That would just be plain manic but she really did need to leave and she didn't know how to get him out or if he even wanted to get out.

Godric could see Darla's inner struggle clearly written across her face. She was an open book to him. He presumed her thoughts had something to do with wanting leave. He could tell by the way she fidgeted, moving from one foot to the other and rolling her cigarette between her fingers and thumb, that she was unsure about something.

He knew that her departure was for the best because if anyone found her down here they'd both be in trouble but he didn't want her to go. He liked watching her face scrunch up and open with her petty human emotions. Godric liked the way her eyes glazed over when there was silence like she had drifted far far away from him. If only he could follow her but watching her was enough.

"Do you have no other name besides Darla?" he asked but noticed that she seemed confused and maybe even scared by his question, "what is your surname, if I may inquire?"

Darla sighed with relief she feared that the man, for she still thought of the baby faced monster before her as a man, had somehow figured out what she was and knew that she went by a different name most every night. She didn't want him to know just yet. She'd had enough judgment for one day.

"Blake," she said telling the 2000-year-old vampire in a cage in a basement her family name.

In Darla's defense she had no idea just how old and powerful Godric actually was. She did know somewhere in the back of her head that she shouldn't be talking to this stranger, this vampire let alone telling him her name. She knew that what she as doing was dangerous and severely frowned upon in some circles but she was put into danger everyday, rather every night of her life.

She let men of all different kinds touch her and ruin her for cold hard plastic. She defiled her own body by filling it with poison. She cut and bled away whatever was left of her innocence just because it hurt less than when the world ripped it out of her thin shakey fingers. So what was a vampire compared to that? All he could was drain her dry, or cut her open or tear up her pretty olive skin. He could torture her and make her wish she had never been born but she can do that all on her own. So what harm could it do to tell him her name?

"Darla Blake," Godric mumbled testing out how it felt rolling off his tongue, "it is nice to meet you Darla Blake."

The way the light hit his face made his skin seem paler; he looked ashen like a corpse just before they put it in the ground. His eyes were red ringed adding even more so to the effect. The eyes themselves, so dark and exhausted, made him look like he was tens of thousand years old and for the first time in her relatively short lifetime of twenty-four years Darla felt like she had connected to someone. As for Godric he was just happy, if that was even the word, that he could still find some semblance of intrigue for the creatures of this world.

"Godric you up?" came a low harsh voice through the darkness. That was Gabe, a large bald man who had very few positive attributes.

"You must leave," Godric said quickly but thinking better of it he added, "no you must hide he must not see you."

Darla's mind did not seem to fully process the weight of the situation at hand mostly because she did not fully comprehend just how violent and dangerous the Fellowship of the Sun was. She had no idea that she was messing with the most idiotic and sadistic people on Earth. All she could think of was that she might drown in her own sorrow if she couldn't focus on the sorrow, so very like her own, of this man-child before her. So Darla, being quite the self destructive little girl, decided that she needed this Godric because here's the truth.

Although everyone around her was completely insane, those people up stairs filling their souls with so much hatred that it over flowed pouring from their mouths and ears and eyes, the man who stood before them leading the Sheep with blind promises and enough dogma to strangle the pope, even the vampire in his silver cage waiting for someone to let him kill himself or at least inflict some pain, Darla was probably the maddest of them all.


	2. Sip of Madness

**Disclaimer: I OWN KNOW NOTHING! besides Darla ALL RIGHTS TO CHARACTERS AND STORY OR PLOT LINE INCORPORATED IN THIS WORK BELONGS TO HBO OR SOME SHIT BUT NOT. ME.**

**The first sip is joy, the second is gladness, the third is serenity, the fourth is MADNESS, the fifth is ecstasy. - Jack Kerouac**

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><p>Godric felt a small shock, not of worry but of instinct, as Gabe drew closer. If his heart had a beat it would have skipped once. The caged vampire listened closely his eyes narrowing into slits. The heavy man's steps were uneven almost handicapped. As a vampire Godric didn't need to breathe but he could still smell when he did choose to inhale and as Gabe came ambling down the stairs leading to the basement Godric took in a deep breathe. The first thing he smelt was of course was fear. Darla was scared perhaps of Gabe but she made no move to run. She just stood there looking at him. He thought maybe she was stunned but then his attention was pulled away from the girl and he smelt it, alcohol. Godric realized that Gabe was drunk, ridiculously so. Darla was in great danger because Gabe as it turned out was a violent drunk.<p>

"You must go," Godric whispered to her his voice low and urgent, "you must go and hide before Gabe comes here and finds you."

There was a loud racket and Godric broke his gaze away from Darla towards the source of said racket. Then there came a long stream of curse words and more noise. Darla never looked away from Godric; she was completely fixated. She was well aware of the drunk man slowly making his way to the couple and it was true that she was very afraid but not of an inebriated oaf but of losing the only thing keeping her above water before she could memorize everything about him. She needed more time.

"Can I see you again?" she said not caring about the danger she could possibly get into.

Darla had never been one to get very concerned about anything save for money and drugs. Even the other ladies of the night thought Darla was slightly off her rocker. They'd be right.

"What?" he said honestly confused and vaguely angry.

He did not let her reply; Gabe had recovered from his plight and was making his way to where they were. He snapped his gaze back to Darla and instantly Darla was gone. In her place was an empty shell with Darla's face. Darla had been folded up all nice and neat into a convenient square very much like a sheet and placed in a box somewhere at the back of her head and Godric poured himself into the empty space left behind. He opened his pink lips, far too pink and plum to be that of a murderer, and spoke to the husk before him.

"Darla," he said his voice a siren song to the doll with Darla's likeness, "listen to me carefully, you must hide, there is a cabinet behind you that is empty stay in there until I tell you otherwise, now go."

Darla stalled; it was only gossamer of consciousness an echo. Godric growing impatient as he was wont to do every so often raised his voice as he spoke to her.

"_Go_," Godric said harshly when it became apparent she wasn't going to move unless he told her again.

There was no time for silly questions and this human's fancies. He needed her out of sight and safe. He watched as she turned her eyes hazy and glazed over but not in the way he likes them. They were empty and devoid of all that emotion she can't keep in. It made Godric feel only slightly regretful that he glamoured her but it was a means to an end. The cabinet doors closed just as Gabe stumbled into Godric's section of the basement.

"Hello Gabe," he greeted his facial expression impassive.

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><p>As it turned out, Gabe was a horrible person. While Godric had done far worse than Gabe, that did not change the fact that the Fellowship members deeds were disgusting at best. Whenever he got drunk enough, Gabe came down to gloat to his vampiric prisoner about how he got away with it.<p>

"An' thennn she saaid t stop," Gabe slurred his face was red sweaty, "'bitch aah fuuhken paid fuur yuuu', tha's wha I tol' eer."

Godric only listened half-heartedly as he always did whenever Gabe spoke. The intoxicated man continued on with his story on how he had beat up a young hooker. Her name was Mary like the virgin mother of the Savior. She had red hair and milk skin, skin that Gabe turned black and blue. He had wrapped his large hands around her throat and squeezed until she cried for mercy. And he gave it to them; he always did because Gabe did not have the balls to kill someone that the Reverend didn't tell him to kill. Gabe was many things but most of all a coward.

"Yuu fuhken fangers are the murderers," he said with such conviction as he began to sober, "I taught those whores a lesson, I made them better, you all just turn 'um dead."

It was at this point that Godric decided that he had had enough. There were many hours still until the Dawn came and Godric would become dead to the world. He would rather spend his waking hours in silence than listen to a sick man's stories any further.

"Gabe, look at me," Godric called to his jailer and as soon as Gabe made eye contact he was under Godric's will, "leave now there is no reason for you to be here, go upstairs and request that someone take you to your home; you are not feeling well."

Gabe nodded dumbly his eye empty quite like Darla's. The large man turned and began his trek back towards the stairs that led up and out of the basement into the church.

"Ms. Blake," Godric said once he had heard the basement door slam shut, "you can come out now."

It took awhile for her to emerge and for a second Godric thought that she had somehow hurt herself in there and Godric found he did not really care. He felt heavy and disgusted and his mind ached with disdain for the human race at the moment. They could be so petty and judgmental. It hurt his soul, if he even had one left, to watch them spit venom.

"It is times like these that makes me fear for all creatures of this world," he said into the seemingly empty basement.

At that moment Darla chose to kick one of the doors of the cabinet open. The glamor had worn off and she had the oddest feeling like someone had carved every thing within her out with a rusty spoon. Darla thought briefly how it wasn't so bad being a mindless zombie. It took the edge off of life.

As Darla continued her inner monologue of how she wished she could have blamed hypnotism for all of her own poor decisions Godric observed the little girl sitting before him. From the human perspective Darla was an adult but to him she was barely an infant. As she huddled in her little cubby with that far away look splashed across her face, Godric couldn't help but notice how small she actually was. She had said that he was too young to look so old but it was the other way around. He was a wolf in sheep's clothing. He had no right to look the way he did, it was wrong, it was unnatural. He was unnatural.

"You gotta realize," she said finally breaking the quiet and distracting him from his self-disgust for a moment, "men like that don't know how they can be so big but feel so small so they have to cut everyone else into pieces."

"You speak from experience?" Godric asked not very interested in her answer; he had had enough of humans and their stories that night.

"Occupational hazard," Darla explained.

Godric waited for her to continue her explanation but she wouldn't and Godric was unwilling to put forth the effort to make her talk. Darla would have normally continued because she liked the sound of her own voice but that night she couldn't stand being in her own skin let alone her own voice. For Darla, self-hate came in waves and torrential storms; they came unexpected and unprovoked and that's where the drugs came in. But there are times when the drugs don't work, the heroin doesn't numb and cocaine doesn't pick her up that's when dearest Darla needs an obsession, the ultimate distraction. That's where Godric came in and she just needed him for a few more seconds, a few more moments to quell the madness. Darla had a very good memory and if she could have him for just a bit more then she could have him for as long as she needed him.

"Older than Jesus you said?" Darla breathed into the silence, "wanna be my savior tonight?"

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><p>AN: So I'm not exactly proud of this and to be honest it was a rush job so I apologize for that and also i know this is soooo much shorter but i just wanted to get something out there before I got my wisdom teeth taken out. I pretty much plan to be comatose and all drugged up on Vicodin for the next week or so and that why I just wanted to get his rough draft out before then.

Okay so on subject of OOC-ness I just wanted to say that Godric might seem a little out of character as chapters go on. I don't mean the 'OH I LOVE YOU NOW I DON'T WANT TO KILL MYSELF WAY.' or in a 'YOUR BLOOD, YOUR BLOOD I CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT YOUR BLOOD SO NOW I MUST OM NOM NOM FROM YOU EVERY NIGHT WHILE WE MAKE SWEET SWEET VAMPIRE LOVE.' Not saying Godric is gonna kill himself I'm not saying he will. I'm not saying there won't be some blood exchange I'm not saying there will be. TEEEHEEEEE no spoilers people.

My take on the whole 'yay I'm ready to die.' scene in I Will Rise Up is that it was beautiful and poignant and a wonderful end to a very lovely character but because didn't get to see enough of Godric I just feel like I was left wanting for more of his story and more of his search for redemption though I promise this is not a sappy fuzzy story about how Godric does something really really nice and good and totally in the right and earns his way into the Big Guy's good graces. This isn't a love story not entirely. It's going to get ugly (well my opinion of ugly).

OOOOOOOHkay i think i've ranted enough and I don't want to give anything else away unless you want to ask me yourself IN REVIEWS! i just might tell you some spoilers, but I'll definitely answer in time.

Thanks for reading.

Bri


	3. Holding On, I Hope You Do the Same

Disclaimer: **I OWN NOTHING!** because i'm a broke college student and shit just happens that way.

here is the revised chapter 3 FINALLY bahahahah

**_Pull the plug._**  
><strong><em> But I'd like to learn your name.<em>**  
><strong><em> And holding on.<em>**  
><strong><em> Well I hope you do the same.<em>**

_**- My Chemical Romance, The Jet Set Life is Gonna Kill You**  
><em>

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><p>The expression on Darla's face made Godric just the slightest bit wary. True, he had been a prisoner of the Fellowship of the Sun for nearly four days and none of the members had ever tried to harm him or outwardly attack him (probably because for all their dogmatic bravado they had not the balls to even show any more than mild contempt for the ancient being) but he had a feeling that Darla wasn't like those people upstairs. She wasn't one of them. There was a madness in her eyes that was a different brand than the kind that religious zealots sold.<p>

"I like that expression," Darla said her hubris finally showing, "it's exactly like the one before and the one before that and the - well no that one was a bit different."

She was teasing him that much was obvious but there was a stench of desperation about her that Godric knew well enough. This human child wanted something; she needed it. Godric was immediately on guard; he knew an addict when he saw one and although he did not know what she was addicted to he could guess. She wanted his blood.

"Don't look at me like that," Darla said trying her very best to be cheery and playful but her voice cracked as she swung her legs out of the cabinet so that she could face her newest obsession, "I don't want your blood or anything creepy like that."

Godric was not convinced and Darla knew it. His trust didn't matter, though but she needed to know more. She needed to get closer. She could already feel that burning sensation at the center of her chest. And oh how Darla wanted to burn.

"So," Darla said purring like a the experienced whore she was, "tell me about yourself."

"I do not wish to speak on the matter," Godric replied coldly.

Godric knew something was different about her, of course he did. He was over two thousand years old and that was long enough to develop a somewhat exceptional understanding of humans and their habits. At the very least it could be said that Godric's understanding of human nature was better than that of most of his kind and he could tell that something was wrong with the girl. There was no more softness to her, no vulnerability. It seemed that all of her flesh had been melted away and all that was left was plastic twisted and deformed.

"Fine," Darla said taking her time on the word stretching every syllable out like pink bubble gum between her teeth.

She smiled widely then and the sight made Godric frown. It was so ugly, not in the traditional sense of the word of course because by normal standards the smile on Darla's face was reasonably pleasant but it was artificial. Her lips, naked and plump, were pulled across her face stretching and Godric thought to himself that they would snap at any moment.

"How about we talk about the weather?" Darla said but then giggled, "but you can't see the sky from down here can you."

This was how Darla flirted and most of the time her teasing worked. Many have fallen prey to her charms and taunts but tonight they would be unanswered. Darla smiled again, that synthetic stretching of skin and gums, and Godric was already tired of her. He sighed and Darla takes the response as an invitation to continue her verbal run around.

A memory, clear and cutting, appears before his mind's eye. There's a girl with a smile much like Miss Darla's and she's staring at him from across the room. They, Miss Darla and this girl from Godric's memory, are two different creatures entirely. The girl from his memory is tall and slender. Her skin is milk and honey and hair is white like cotton. Her eyes are blue and blares to the rest of the room her rebellion, her challenge to any male willing to take a chance. This girl is no whore, she's no farmer's daughter, she is the fruit of a warrior and Godric likes that. He sees her fire and he wants to smother it, he wants to cut her open and see what her insides look like and that's exactly what he did. He ripped her open and devoured her soul.

Suddenly, Godric felt sick. He couldn't bear to look at the other girl in the room. The girl that is real and staring at him like she needs him but can't stand to touch him. Darla on the other hand couldn't take her eyes off of the vampire before her. She knew he was time traveling; he was somewhere in the past. Darla had seen this look many times before.

Men don't go to a whore for sex; they go for satisfaction. Sometimes that satisfaction is of the carnal nature and other times the only thing that will sate the beast is a sympathetic ear and place to rest his head. Though Darla had a feeling that Godric didn't really want to talk about his trip through time long past nor did he wish to lean his head on her shoulder. He was screaming inside and Darla loved it.

She took note of the way his eyes went dead, she traced the curves of his lips as he grimaced ever so slightly. Darla would memorize Godric's moment of shame and self-hatred and lock it up in a safe place to take out when nothing else could cool the bad. She'd pull it out like an old worn blanket and wrap herself up in it and pray that it would help her sleep.

Darla would dream of Godric and this very moment for weeks.

"Where were you?" Darla asked entranced like a small child waiting for the greatest story ever told, "where did you go just now?"

She sounded insane and hungry. Darla wasn't flirting any more; she was begging and that made something in Godric want pull her closer. How long had it been since someone begged him for something other than blood or sex? How long had it been? Far too long, far too long and so he took a chance.

"I was in the past, in a place that has been gone for centuries," he said gauging her reaction very carefully.

Her eyes widened as if to say "go on, give me more; _please_ tell me more."

"There was a girl," he continued now just as caught up in the story as Darla was, "and she smiled at me. All she did was smile and I knew, I just knew that I would have to kill her."

Godric watched Darla's expression but it did not change. She sat there in her cabinet unfazed by his confession. So he continued and he wondered briefly if he would be able to stop.

"I seduced her first with talk of pleasure and pain. I told her I could see right through her and then I whispered to her all of her deepest darkest secrets that she never told me," Godric said leaning forward, "she didn't stand a chance. When I did get her alone I tore her apart, not quickly but slowly very slowly."

Darla tried to imagine this girl. The girl was a dark beauty and far too small and pale to be the same girl Godric spoke of but that didn't matter all that mattered was that he was talking. He was talking to her.

"First it was her fingers, then her toes. I broke her hands then her ankles," he said the words rushed from his lips like a sinner in a confessional, "and she wouldn't stop screaming, she just kept screaming. She didn't say any words, she just screamed until it was over and I ended it."

Godric wasn't looking at Darla as he finished his story. He looked at his hands as if he was amazed but he wasn't amazed, he was horrified. There was blood on his hands and not just there but on his face and feet as well. It was a wonder how his skin hasn't turned red. For a moment Godric was lost in himself but then Darla made a sound like a whine or a wimper and Godric was immediately aware the human sitting before him. He looked across at her expecting to see her face twisted with disgust. He wanted to see it he needed to see her hate him. This was redemption of sorts. He wanted all these humans to burn but Darla refused.

She didn't mean to deny Godric his redemption. You see, Darla wasn't horrified, or disgusted. She was just hungry and it showed clearly on her face. She didn't care if he slaughtered some poor stupid girl hundreds of years ago all she cared about was her fix. She had a taste and she wanted more.

"Did you know her name?" Darla asked.

There was a long pause like the whole world had stopped. Godric was vaguely impressed and just a tad bit offended by her sick fascination with his sins. Her blatant disregard for his obvious guilt and disgust and her refusal to play her role correctly was just plain rude. Darla on the other hand was about to burst. She just needed a little bit more, she just needed to steal one more piece of him and she could leave. One more piece and she would be saved, for a little while at least.

"No," Godric said finally, leaning back letting his head touch the wall that his cot was pushed up against, "I never asked."

Godric folded his legs up and rested the balls of his feet on the edge of his cot. He put his head down and wrapped his arms around his knees folding himself up like a beach chair. He would give her no more, he would tell no more stories. Godric was tired of that girl. He wasn't fascinated or enamored. Godric wasn't even frustrated he just wanted her to leave. He wanted to be alone and Darla could tell.

"Well that's just messed up ain't it?" Darla said pushing her self up and out of the cupboard, "she didn't even tell you her name."

Godric didn't react and Darla didn't expect him to; she just wanted to test her voice out. She wanted to check if it still made her ears bleed and to her relief she loved the sound. She wanted to say something else just to hear herself speak. Darla felt victorious and indomitable while the vampire in the cage felt sick or at least what he remembers of sickness.

"Hey," said Darla as a statement of realization and she began to search her person again, "I got something for ya."

Finding what she was looking for, a worn down piece of shiny paper, Darla placed it just outside of the grating so Godric could reach for it if he wanted.

"It's coupon," Darla stated bluntly, "it's for a super market that I like to visit, I don't really buy anything but it's nice to look at all the stuff ya know?"

In fact Godric did know because he played that game as well. He'd walk through convenience stores in a T-shirt and jeans trying his very best to blend in. Perhaps every so often he'd walk through an aisle, pick a bag, or box or can at random, look it over then put it back. Being of the living dead he could no longer ingest human food but he would go through this ritual of food shopping. It would seem pathetic to any other vampire perhaps his desperate attempt to connect would seem pathetic to humans as well because that's what it was: desperate.

"I think they sell Tru Blood and some other substitutes," Darla continued to explain her actions, "go check it out if you ever get out of this place, 'kay?"

She was leaving and that was apparent to Godric but he had no intention of trying to make her stay. He wanted her to leave. She no longer intrigued him instead her presence vexed him to no end.

"You're stalling," said Godric his voice muffled but his bitterness was clear, "just leave."

Darla was surprised to find that he was right; she was stalling. There was something about him, this sad little vampire with a baby-face and funny accent that made her want to stay. She felt just a little bit guilty like she had deprived him of something. Not that she was actually going to stay, she was getting her shit out of there as fast as her legs could take her but there was one last thing to do.

"Thank you," she said walking forward and laced her fingers through the holes in the grating of the cage.

Darla pressed her forehead to the blue-painted metal and then the rest of her body. Sure she realized that it was stupidly reckless to get so close to the ancient vampire but if he wished to take her life then she was willing. She owed him.

"I mean it," she said solemnly, "thank you."

When he gave no response and showed no sign of doing so Darla shrugged and pulled back. Then that was it they would go their separate ways. Darla backed away trying to keep the huddled figure of her savior in sight for as long as she could. When she did finally turn away she kept glancing over her shoulder but the sight never changed. It wasn't until Darla was long gone and halfway to Dallas' red light district that Godric finally looked up.

He unfolded himself and looked around it had been hours since the girl had left but he could still see her still feel her around. She had worn no perfume but the smell of her shampoo, a warm and musky scent, still lingered though it would fade away completely in just a few more hours. Godric was alone and it was then at 4:34 am in the dim lighting of the basement beneath the sanctuary of the Fellowship of the sun that Godric decided to respond finally.

"You're welcome," he said to no one.


	4. Still to be neat

Disclaimer: I OWN KNOW NOTHING. Don't sue me I have no money.

So as it turns out I'm not dead! :D yay for me.

Hope you like it.

There's a playlist down at the bottom if anyone is interested.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Still to be neat, still to be dressed,<em>**  
><strong><em>As you were going to a feast;<em>**  
><strong><em>Still to be powdered, still perfumed:<em>**  
><strong><em>Lady, it is to be presumed,<em>**  
><strong><em>Though art's hid causes are not found,<em>**  
><strong><em>All is not sweet, all is not sound.<em>**

**_Give me a look, give me a face_**  
><strong><em>That makes simplicity a grace;<em>**  
><strong><em>Robes loosely flowing, hair as free:<em>**  
><strong><em>Such sweet neglect more taketh me<em>**  
><strong><em>Than all the adulteries of art;<em>**  
><strong><em>They strike mine eyes but not my heart.<em>**

**_- Ben Jonson, Still to be neat_**

* * *

><p>When Darla was younger she used to pretend she was ballerina. She would dream that she was tall and thin like a swan with pretty white skin and white blonde hair. She would prance around with her short stubby legs looking ridiculous in a ragtag tutu that wasn't even really pink but in her mind she was <em>prima ballerina assoluta<em>. This was probably Darla's first obsession. It would not be her last.

The acrid smell of piss and stale beer filled the lobby of the Hotel Bella Muerte or maybe that was the stench broken dreams and stale hookers. You'd be surprised how often those two mixtures coincide. What's even more surprising is that people pay to be in that mess.

"You're late," croaked the hag from behind the check-in counter.

You could tell she was once a real beauty. Maybe that's why the Boss kept her around, nostalgia. Now she was a bitter shriveled bitch with too much make-up and nicotine-yellow teeth.

Darla paused for a moment her gaze looked on the dingy checkered floor. She didn't respond right away.

"I got held up," Darla mumbled noncommittal as always but the Madame was having none of it.

In 12 seconds flat the hag was out from behind the desk and Darla was on the floor. Darla was lucky she didn't have a glass jaw because Madame didn't slap bitches she always came out swinging.

"You got a real mouth on you, Doll," Madame said in a low murmur.

That wasn't a pet name as far as everyone (minus one) in Texas was concerned Dolly was the only name Darla ever had. You see when your fresh meat before you start at the Bella Muerte, before you get your hands dirty, dirtier than they already are at least, the Madame sets up an interview of sorts with one of the other girls. They tease you a bit make you feel like you're one of the gals then when you are feeling just a little bit better about the sins you're about to commit the seasoned whore asks you a question.

_What's you're name, kid?_

And like the naïve little shit that you are you start to answer but before you get the first syllable out you're against the wall or your head in crushed against the funky smelling floor. By the time its over the blood is pounding in your ears and maybe you've broken a bone or some cartilage. You've definitely sprained something but the point is that you're good and roughed up enough to have blood on your teeth. And as you're writhing or curling up in on yourself, varies from person to person, the prostitute leans down to whisper something to you.

_You don't have a name bitch. You're a whore. That girl, the one with the name, the one with a soul it's best to forget about her now because she's dead. You stabbed her in the throat when you walked in here. I just finished the job. _

You see at the Hotel Bella Muerte they break the girls right out of the gates. Then as that poor nameless thing is clinging to consciousness against the wall or on the floor the Madame walks in. She crouches down beside her and gives her a good look over and then gives her a title. The kind like, Suzie Lovely, Blue Eyes or Blondie.

It's a baptism. You start out a desperate, starving girl and then passing through fists, teeth and cheap acrylic nails you become a desperate, starving whore. The Madame comes and christens you with a new name. Darla was given Baby Doll.

"You gotta watch that mouth of yours, Baby Doll," Madame said moving back behind the check-in desk, "and glance at a goddamn clock next time, you dumb bitch."

Darla got up from the floor after gathering herself. She was a bit shaken but not startled. Physical punishment was a normal thing at the Bella Muerte, either you earned it or you paid for it, cash or credit.

Darla made her way to the stairwell and when she turned the corner she was greeted by Cherry who had obviously been watching the whole scene.

"What ya lookin' at, Cherry?" Darla sneered giving the other girl the most venomous glare she could conjure, "you got a fuckin' problem?"

The younger prostitute, she was only 17, just shook her head.

"You shouldn't provoke her like that," Cherry said with her thick Southern twang, "you know she's been gunnin' for ya ever since ya up and left with all that cash."

"Oh and is that what the other vipers tell you, Cher?" Darla said starting up the stairs not caring to listen to Cherry's response.

The Madame watched Darla go. She'd never say it out loud but she had a soft spot for her Baby Doll because she knew why Dolly had taken that money and split all those years ago. She may have been the only one. Whores weren't exactly the brightest halogens in the bowling alley sign.

If the Madame believed that she could still feel sympathy then she'd say that she sympathized the little harpy but the former hooker had been a bitter old bitch for far too long to believe she could feel anything like that.

So whatever it was that the Madame felt for Darla, it still kept her up at night years after everything that happened. Years after Darla had left the Bella Muerte and after the debacle with that little brown haired vampire and the Fellowship of the Sun and the fire, the Madame would think of Baby Doll with her sepia tone skin and big brown eyes until the day the former hooker died.

* * *

><p>Darla was in a mood. It had been three weeks since her encounter with the vampire and one week since she got bored of him. He sat there at the back of her head like a good little vampire. The cold (quite literally) bastard was waiting in the dark for the right time to strike.<p>

Her dealer had been picked up the night before her pick up date. That meant that the night before she had been left standing on a corner in the bad part of town in pink hot pants, stilettos and a tank top. It was a miracle she hadn't been picked up by the police or worse caught by one of the pimps roaming the streets looking to spill some blood. All she got that night were blisters on her feet and a blow to the face when she showed up late to the Hotel.

She wouldn't have been late if she hadn't had seen the morning news. Splashed across the papers and the television sets was the Fellowship of the Sun. After the memory of Godric became less than helpful Darla packed him up neatly into a box and stacked him amongst the other obsessions that went bad. He should have stayed there but then the Newlins had to go showing their crazy asses all over the public media even more than usual.

"It doesn't matter," Darla murmured to herself as she stood in front of room 475, her room, "_he_ doesn't matter."

The finality in her voice did not parallel the insecurity she actually felt. There were a great many things that made Darla shake in her boots so to speak but she would not let a stupid kid in a church basement be one of them. Darla is an idiot because Godric was anything but a kid and he wasn't locked in that basement anymore.

She inserted the key and turned effectively unlocked the door that led to her very own den of iniquity. Cherry had been right. Darla knew she deserved every bit of crap the Madame gave her. In all truth she should be groveling and kissing the ground the old bitch walked on. It was only because of her that Darla didn't have a bullet buried in her brain but for some reason she couldn't find it in herself to be grateful.

Maybe it was because Darla was just naturally an ungrateful bitch. Maybe it was because she still had to fuck snakes in suits and bastards in cowboy boots for money. Maybe Darla just hated everyone and everything so much that she could never show a scrap of thanks to anyone. Or maybe it was because somewhere deep down inside Darla wouldn't have minded the bullet. It was the only reason she came back after she had committed treason against the Bella Murete.

"I've been waiting for you," came a thin oily whine as the heavy door croaked open.

And behold a thin, oily man stood in her room. His suit was cheap but his tie was a respectable navy blue. His sparse hair was combed over the top as if it would help hide the barren wasteland that was his scalp.

"Did you bring the stuff?" she said her eyes cold and calculating.

He nodded with a twitchy nervousness that sickened Darla but he produced a tin foil square and then nothing else mattered.

"Then let's not keep you waiting any longer," she purred to her newest victim.

Yes, the bullet would have been nice but she missed her chance and now Darla dances with the devil in the pale moonlight every night.

* * *

><p><strong>7:10 am the Next Morning<strong>

Two vampires stood on roof of the Hotel Carmilla. To the untrained senses they seemed to be two young men about to enjoy the sunset and perhaps in some other time, in some parallel universe they could have been just that but not in this place or time. Not in this sad, dry desert.

"2000 years is enough," said one, his voice tired and ancient.

He was the shorter of the two, far shorter. You would have never guessed by just looking that he was the older vampire but if you could see him, really see him, you'd know.

Godric is all deep soft tones and quiet moments. He's a forgotten forest, a ruined sanctuary, vines and rotting limestone but not Eric. Eric is beautiful in the way a comet is beautiful. He is passion, burning so bright and hard that he could turn you to dust if you stared too long but this forest fire, this falling star with all his heat and intensity is burning himself up. The first person he's ever loved is burning out and he can't take it. In fact he won't stand for it.

"I can't accept this," Eric said, his voice cracking as he said, "it's insanity."

"Our existence is insanity," Godric replied still unable to make eye contact with the love of his unlife.

Oh how Godric loved his childe. When Godric had first seen Eric, Godric was already 1000-years-old but still just a child. Godric fell in love at first sight. He had seen the young Viking in battle. He was merciless and vicious. He was a god. So Godric had taken him. He stole the golden youth from the waking world and locked him away in his own world filled with monsters that go bump in the night and then some. He loved Eric then, he had been a brother, a father, a _son_ and Godric loved Eric still but there was a dissonance between the two of them now. They stood on opposite sides of a chasm.

Godric turned to Eric, his shining golden childe and finally looked him in the eye.

"We don't belong here," he said with a sadness so huge it was cosmic.

"But we are here!" Eric shouted.

Godric knew Eric would react that way with indignation. His childe still so young and full of anger, he used to be that way but anger fades and so does youthfulness.

"It's not right we're not right," Godric said as he reached his hands forward trying to plead his case.

This world was not for him anymore nor was it for any vampire. This new world so full of life and light it didn't need them anymore. Eric only backed away from him open arms and Godric let them fall dead and defeated at his sides.

"Mankind has out grown us, monster with fangs and claws," Godric said his eyes moving to the ground.

They had made new monsters, ones with trust funds and corporate deals instead of sharpened teeth and blood-soaked fur. Man had made new gods that came in expensive navy suits or religious headdress with expensive leather shoes. Man fashioned them from their own flesh and blood, built their monster and gods in their own image. No, this world was not for them. Then a pretty blonde with tanned skin and her hair in curls walked onto the roof and the moment is shattered.

"Sookie," Eric breathed out the name like it was a sin; he turned to meet her questioning gaze.

"Eric," she greeted him with her pleasant Southern twang then turned to look at Godric who gave her a solemn nod of the head.

"You shouldn't be here, Sookie," Eric said in a measured tone, in a dangerous tone but the blonde girl, Sookie, doesn't even flinch.

"But I am," she said unknowingly echoing Eric's earlier notion.

_They are more alike than they are willing to admit,_ Godric thought to himself. Both of them stubborn and fierce. Both of them ruthless in a way that the girl didn't quite understand yet.

"I came here because," Sookie started but she hesitated and moved towards Godric, "I came because I wanted to ask you not to do this."

Godric almost smiled. He didn't of course but he felt mild amusement at her request because it was the same as his childe's. The perfect match those two but something told him that would be their downfall.

"I am sorry," Godric said politely because that was him, ever calm, ever correct what a fucking joke, "but I don't think that what I am about to do concerns you."

Then he sees that fire again in her eyes. It didn't fit there in the dark of morning. She didn't belong to the night, she was all sunshine and tan lines. He envied her. He'd never have a tan that perfect but he was going to try.

"With all due respect, Mr. Godric, sir," Sookie said her sass showing, "but I disagree."

"Sookie," Eric said through his teeth.

He wouldn't let anyone talk to his maker, his brother, that way. Eric had always liked the cheek that the girl had but at that moment it only angered and offended him. It didn't offend Godric; it was a minor annoyance at most.

"This isn't right," Sookie began pleading her case and Godric was content to listen if he was lucky her rhetoric would last long enough so he could watch the sunrise.

"Sookie," Eric interrupted gripping her arm as if that would silence the spitfire, "this isn't your business, leave."

Anyone else would have left, let it drop; Godric was sure of it but the girl stayed. Even with a 6'4", thousand-year-old vampire baring his still-blunt teeth in her face she held her ground. Sookie pulled her arm out of Eric's grasp and continued to speak her heartfelt reason.

"I know you've done terrible things, Godric," she said, "I get that."

_you've no idea…_

but that isn't the point. That's not what matters in life."

_unlife actually…_

You were a monster and you still think that you're a monster but if you die here, right now, you die a monster."

_that's the point…_

You saved me Godric," she said her voice straining as she remembered the other night down in the basement.

The word resonated in Godric's mind. _Save_.

_I am older than your Savior_.

"You've got power, Godric," she said but she was incorrect.

"You are incorrect. I am no longer Sheriff of Area 9, I have no influence," Godric stated then glanced out towards the horizon.

_Just a while longer_.

That's when Godric remembered Eric. Eric needed to get off the roof or suffer the effects of the sun as well.

"That's not what I meant, you _do_ have influence," she explained, "people respect you and they won't care that some blonde vampire bitch on TV says you're fired. You still affect people Godric."

What Sookie lacked was perspective. She assumed that the True Death was some new concept with Godric. She thought that he wanted to die because he had no purpose and that he was no longer effective now that he was no longer Sheriff but Sookie was wrong. Godric wanted to die because he was tired. He was old. The world was no longer relevant to him and it was time to move on.

"You can still help people."

_but why should I?_

you can still _save_ people."

That word again. That's when he remembered her, the other girl from the basement. She's not blonde and her skin doesn't glow with a healthy tan. She's small, and sepia-toned. She fumbles with cigarettes in the dark and hides in old dusty cupboards from giants with drinking problems. She listens to his morbid memories with rapt eyes. Her name, Darla Blake and she asked him to save her.

"This life isn't about innocence it's about repentance," Sookie said reaching out to grab his hands but then she thought better of it.

Vampires don't like being touched.

"Sookie as much as I love hearing your inspirational spiels," Eric began putting himself between the older vampire and the Southern belle, "this is NONE. Of your-"

"We should go," Godric said effectively silencing his progeny, "the dawn approaches and only one of the three of us would survive it."

Eric was stunned. Sookie smiled.

"Godric," Eric breathed out his name into the cool morning twilight.

Godric walked to his son, brother, father, and touched his arm in assurance. He nodded as if to tell Eric that it was over for now. The danger had passed. His world had not fallen apart yet.

"Come, Eric," Godric said and then continued to walk to the staircase with Eric following in suit.

Sookie, however, waited. She stood aside and watched as both vampires disappeared safely down into the Hotel Carmilla. She looked out to the horizon as if she were waiting for something. Then, right on queue, morning broke.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Hey anyone who is still reading. So its been quiet a while since the last update. Sorry. Things have been hectic I've been off discovering the joys of independent living and the horrors of it as well.

You know the drill. Tell me what you think, questions, violent messages of repugnance. or love. you could send me love if you like bahahaha.

Also something new, a playlist just a few songs that I leave on repeat while writing this story:

- Jezebel - Iron & Wine  
>.comwatch?v=nlxkJXeH8gg

- Culling of the Fold - The Decemberists  
>.comwatch?v=VrM-GJyiRjk

- Twist - I Am Kloot  
>.comwatch?v=YG3qly6B82U

- Future Starts Slow - The Kills  
>.comwatch?v=KiLjuRG3hoE

- Dirge - Death in Vegas  
>.comwatch?v=F5nzwqj3utY (i really love the music video that goes with it)

- Bring it On - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds  
>.comwatch?v=elaHaLl8T1k (great satirical music video)

- Where Did You Sleep Last Night (Leadbelly Cover) - Nirvana  
>.comwatch?v=5OHBEmQtNIg

- Oh Comely - Neutral Milk Hotel  
>.comwatch?v=nI5wt5EhUJI

- I Can Make You Feel It - Home Video  
>.comwatch?v=yN2ToKzZxNE


	5. The World's Oldest Profession

**DISCLAIMER: **I own nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.

So here is chapter 5, this one was fast probably because its a bit shorter than the last one.

Well as usual I hope you like it. Drop me a line people, it makes me write faster.

3 bruu

* * *

><p><strong>Go on believe, if it turns you on.<br>Take what you need 'til your body is numb.  
>Prostitution is revolution<br>you can hate me after you pay me. **

**- Cobra Starship, Prostitution is the World's Oldest Profession**

* * *

><p>Right on queue, morning broke through the blinds of room 475. The light sliced across Darla's bare chest and into her open eyes. She hadn't slept. She hadn't slept for a week, not since seeing the Fellowship of the Sun all splashed across the media. There was a groan to her left as her customer from last night got an eye-full of sun as well.<p>

"Ah fuck," he said in a gruff unforgiving voice, "turn that fucking light off."

Darla suddenly felt disgusted with the man and promptly pushed him away and got off the bed.

"That's the sun ya dumbfuck," she spat out as she made her way to the bathroom, "oh and get the fuck out of my room."

She heard him call her a cunt through the bathroom door but paid him no mind. The bathroom was small and square. The floor was covered in dingy little tiles that were probably once white and the walls were that tacky coral pink color that you find in vacation motels. Sometimes Darla felt like that exact shade of pink, so cheap and tasteless. As she turned the faucet and let the cold water fill her bathtub Darla could feel her toes going pink.

There was a loud bang when the bastard from before slamed the door shut as he left mumbling under his breath about ungrateful hookers. Darla hardly winced when the drug dealer shouted out before he leaving completely that if he ever caught her on the streets he'd teach her a lesson.

They all say that. Of course they all mean it but Darla didn't mind, a little pain never hurt anyone.

"Yea?" she whispered in response to the man's exclamation, "then I'll see you on the streets."

The water was frigid as Darla dipped her fingers down past the lip of the tub. She straightened and put her foot into the bath. She squeezed her eyes shut; the water was so cold that it was painful to feel but she continued regardless. Darla lifted her other foot balancing precariously on her left foot only then began to dip that leg down as well. Once she was on both feet again she gingerly lowered her self into the cold, her lip becoming swollen she was biting on it so hard.

When she was finally submerged in the frigid liquid, Darla let out a sigh. The water was so cold her head was starting hurt and her toes were already numb but it was better than being pink, tasteless coral pink like the walls the surrounded her. She couldn't feel a think but at least she didn't feel cheap.

* * *

><p><strong>Two Weeks After the Hotel Carmilla<strong>

Night came in a whisper for Godric. His eyes snapped open as the light disappeared from the world. It became _his_ world for the night.

There was a strange calm then in his house. Not the one that blew up. Godric had taken up residence in one of the other homes he possessed. The quiet of an existence without responsibility was something that Godric had grown unaccustomed to over the years that he had become Sheriff of Area 9. He found that he did not dislike the feeling.

"Master Godric," said a small thin man of Asian decent as he appeared before Godric, "you are awake, how was your rest, sir?"

There was no need to answer the question. It is a question that is to remain unanswered because that is its purpose. It was a habit created out of an awareness of manners, nothing more.

"Is there any news?" Godric said in that cool tranquil accent so mixed it that it was impossible to pinpoint its true origin.

Mostly because it had none.

"Yes, sir," said the thin man whose name was Milton, "one of the detectives that you hired has requested that he meet with you."

"Send him into my office," Godric said before turning to his closet and set out on the task of getting dressed for the night.

Godric's wardrobe was truly a reflection of self. His shirts consisted mainly of grays and off-whites. The style of these shirts varied from loose and comfortable to loosely formfitting. There were of course the grayish brown shirts here and there and perhaps a dark dull blue or navy. Now his pants they only came in one kind and the was loose. Godric didn't do the skinnys.

"You requested that I meet with you," Godric stated as he entered the medium square room the served as his office.

The room itself was…_nice_. The walls were a tasteful gray that was only vaguely purple-ish with white borders running along the edges of the room. There were shelves on either side of the room that housed books of many different genre and language but there were huge gaps in the collection. Old friends lost in the explosion. The furniture, was dark, the desk a deep mahogany. Yes, Godric's office looked quite cultured and smart but cold and dead just like the rest of him.

"Yes," said a man in a trench coat with messy brown hair.

The man, a private detective, was an oddity. Not because his appearance was odd, in fact in that respect he was painfully normal. He was not exceptionally tall, around 5'11", he was handsome but not pretty. He had a strong jaw and the line to his chin was sharp. He had a straight nose that was neither very long nor very short and his lips were light pink.

"You have information then," Godric said as he stood just inside the room as if he felt like an intruder in his own office.

The so-called PI was odd not because of his visage but because of his mannerisms. He seemed to lack all awareness of personal space often violating the silent code with many of Godric's staff. The man's hair was always unkempt and his tie always a mess. He also stared, unnervingly so.

The detective inspected the books on Godric's shelf with a keen eye. He lingered on the oldest tomes some dating back over five hundred years. It was as though he were looking at memories, stocked and catalogued. That of course was impossible, the man could not be more than 40 years old at most. Yet there was something in that stare, so intent and intelligent. There was something ethereal about him. Also he always wore a tan over coat. He literally never took it off.

"Yes," the sleuth said as though it should have been obvious, "that's why I'm here."

Godric suddenly felt like he had a headache. It wasn't everyday that the vampire met someone who was even more severely enigmatic than himself. The detective's actions could have been considered coy, even humorous if it was anyone else but not with Mr. Novak. Mr. Novak did not joke.

"Mr. Novak," Godric said firmly as though dealing with a child, "what information have you found."

Novak turned his attention to Godric his blue appraising gaze was certainly unnerving even for the ancient vampire. Or maybe it was the trench coat, it was almost creepy the way he wore it even in the scalding Texas heat.

"There is no Darla Blake," he said in a very rough, very present voice that did not match his flighty disposition, "no such person exists in the state of Texas, never has, which is…strange."

Mr. Novak tilted his head to the side as though he were confused. His eyebrows were jammed together in the middle of his forehead, the universal sign of bewilderment. Then he turned back to the books his fingers ghosting over their spines. This was not the information that Godric had been hoping for. He had hoped that maybe the girl had given him a real name instead of a fake one. It would have made things so much easier.

"Thank you, Mr. Novak," Godric said his hands in his pockets, "your services will no longer be necessary."

"That's not all," Mr. Novak said, "the girl does not exist here in Texas but there are records of a Darla Blake in a small town just outside of Texas in Arizona who fits the description you gave me, apparently she ended up in the hospital and used that name while there. She disappears after that, her bill unpaid."

Mr. Novak then tore himself away from the bookshelf to remove from within his coat a worn manila folder. The folder itself looked questionable. There were dark red smudges on the cover that looked vaguely like fingerprints and on one of the corners there was what seemed to be teeth marks, _human_ teeth marks. Mr. Novak held the folder out to Godric but before he could take it Novak stopped him.

"One last thing," he said becoming even more serious if that was possible, "her current location, you won't like it."

There was a warning in his eyes and then something like a dare. It was Godric's turn to look confused. He was certain that this James Novak was more than human; there was something off about him, something otherworldly that irked Godric ever so slightly. They, the vampire and the private eye, stared each other down. Godric's expression was wary while Novak's was completely serious yet open and unafraid.

That's when the sounds of "La Cucaracha" blared from Novak's pants pocket. He looked confused at first before reaching down into his pocket producing a little cell phone.

"Dammit I told Dean not to change my ringtones," Novak murmured under his breath as he pushed the folder into Godric's hands whilst answering the phone.

"Hello?" he said in that gruff voice of his sounding very exasperated, "Dean? I realize that the situation is serious but – yes – I'll be there immediately."

Godric watched the detective closely as he spoke on the phone. He seemed to be unfamiliar with the technology and almost awkward as he spoke to his "Dean". Godric could have sworn the man on the other side of the phone call had called Novak by a different name.

"I am leaving," Novak stated simply and then made to leave without waiting for Godric's response.

"About payment," Godric began but Novak cut him off.

"I do not need it," he said then made his way towards the exit.

And then he was gone his coat billowing out behind him. Godric had not been flustered in a very long time, we're talking hundreds of years. But Novak had somehow succeeded in leaving the 2000 year old being quite perplexed.

"Sir," said Milton having appeared suddenly in the doorway, "Mr. Novak has left the premises."

"Yes I realized," Godric said then turned his attention to the folder.

Milton left knowing that his employer would only find his presence a hindrance. And so Godric was left to his own devices finally, so that he could look through folder. The file seemed to be full of information, paper clippings poked out from every side. When Godric opened the folder he found that the deep red smudges were also on many of articles in the file.

There was an array of things tucked into the manila, a few newspaper articles dating back as early as the 1940s to as recent as that morning's edition. There were a few hotel brochures and a peacock's feather. There were many different photos mostly in black and white. There was one of a little girl in a ragtag ballerina tutu and another of a strange plant that looked carnivorous. There were papers scribbled on in messy handwriting; they looked like doctor's notes and also what looked to be a birth certificate, in fact there were a few of those. There was one lone report card that was yellowed and ripped down the middle then taped together haphazardly. Godric could not make sense of all of it.

Then he saw a yellow post-it note sticking out beneath all of the junk. In very neat handwritten letters it read "pull me" and so Godric did so. He found that the post-it was stapled to a business card of sorts. It was a simple red card, small and plain with a name and address written in simple black letters. Godric turned the card over and found another note.

_I warned you._

The note was cryptic at best but Godric didn't see the point in paying any attention. What was the worst that could happen?

"Baby Doll," he read off the front of the card, "Hotel Bella Muerte."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

DUN DUN DUUUUUUN a cliff hanger! or is it?

no, really, I can never tell.

Anyway there it is folks. Tell me what you think, attack my grammar if that's what floats your boat just let me know you're out there.


	6. Tears a Hole

Disclaimer: not mine. because really if I owned any part of True Blood I would be making this shit happen on screen.

**_The needle tears a hole _**  
><strong><em>The old familiar sting <em>**  
><strong><em>Try to kill it all away <em>**  
><strong><em>But I remember, everything<em>**

**_- Hurt  
><em>**

* * *

><p>He knew of the Hotel Bella Muerte. It was located in Area 5 in the red light district. His former associate, Charlie the sheriff of that Area, had been trying to make some kind of business deal with the owners of the hotel. However, it was understood that the owners were very religious and had said and I quote "we won't make no deals with blood suckin' freaks. We're not a bunch of homos."<p>

That of course was inaccurate in some respects. Many of the girls in Bella Muerte preferred alternative choices. In fact none of them could truthfully claim that they had not at least once indulged in the pleasures that only female flesh can bring.

* * *

><p>She didn't know just where she was going but she was gonna try for the kingdom is she could. An aroma bloomed from the spoon that Darla was cooking her heroin on. It was sweet and smelled like the color purple. The room spun.<p>

_ tilt-o-whirl tilt-o-whirl tilt-o-whirl tilt-o-whirl tilt-o-whirl tilt-o-whirl_

She giggled but then a memory came to her and suddenly she was at the fair and the Man is handing her cotton candy and touches the ribbons in her hair. He tells her don't tell mommy but mommy's dead, mommy's dead.

_dead dead dead dead dead_

The room spun. Then the guy to her right says

_hey you okay?_

Just like the Man. Then the thought is gone. She shoved it back down like vomit in her throat and focused on the man who was there in front of her. She focuses on the heroin; it's her wife, and it's her life and any man who will give it to her is her master for the night.

"Hey you okay," Jimmy said to her right genuinely concerned, "you want me to do it for you?"

Darla had been frozen in place for a good 50 seconds poised and ready to melt the heroin on the spoon in her left hand. She had been lost in her mind somewhere. The ecstasy she had stolen off of Blue earlier hadn't worn off completely and it probably wasn't a very good idea to take the heroin but Jimmy had offered and that was good enough for Darla.

"Yea," she mumbled still not all there but then she repeated herself that time more sure of herself, more present.

A smile then. A smile that stretched and stretched and stretched like a rubber band. She could see it go all the way across the sky until it reached Italy, France Spain and then China. She lights up and a sweet smell hits the air. The smile is stretching and stretching as the needle breaks her skin.

_You awright sweetheart?_

It's Jimmy. Jimmy, Jim, James. She laughs because it's funny. She watches her smile expand outwards and over the sea.

_Dolly, baby, are you all right?_

She laughs and laughs and nods. Then he's laughing too his face melting with the heat of the sounds he's making.

Stretching, stretching, _stretching_ then…

_**SNAP.**_

The door slams open.

"Who the fuck are you," Jimmy said angry at the intrusion.

In the doorway stood a man or what looked like a man. He was actually a monster, a killer, a vampire with a thirst for well quite frankly redemption. How camp.

"I am, Godric," he said his voice low yet commanding.

Godric was no stranger to brothels and whorehouses. Eric enjoyed places like those at the beginning. Surely enough when his progeny had gone missing Godric could find him amongst the bartered flesh and thighs of the youngest and freshest whores in the most expensive houses. The Bella Muerte was nothing new. It was the latest in a very long line.

"I have come for the girl," he said his face betraying nothing.

Godric wasn't angry far from it actually. He was not shocked. At most he was mildly disgusted.

"Oh my god," Darla whispered but neither of the men seemed to notice.

Godric on his part was very calm considering the situation he was in. He had been a tad bit too enthusiastic towards the older woman down in the lobby. She had shouted at him that she would be calling the police. He of course knew that she wouldn't. She was well aware that the business she ran was incredibly illegal but she would call someone, someone possibly worse than the police.

"She ain't goin' with ya, buddy," Jimmy slurred and Godric got a feeling.

It was contempt. The intoxicated human reminded him of Gabriel. Gabe, whom he had killed with a simple flick of his writs, a flex of the muscles.

"I am not your friend," Godric said, "and she _is_ coming with me."

"Oh my _**GOD**_," that was Darla again.

Her eyes had grown wide and her mouth dropped open revealing that dark hole that leads down into the center of her. Then she screamed. She screamed bloody fucking murder.

It took the two others by surprise. Jimmy shrank back and away from the woman who was shrieking banshee. Godric went at her. His hand clamped down on her mouth silencing but not calming her. She thrashed and raged her limbs flailing falling against his arm. She tried to scratch him but it was a moot effort. She couldn't even leave a mark.

"Agh," Jimmy moaned hands over his ears and face scrunched up into the universal sign of shut-the-fuck-up, "take her, take her. I don't care just don't let her make that sound."

Godric did not hesitate. He picked up the trembling girl who was now too scared to even fight back. She just shook and shook like silent sobs were racking her body but there were no tears. Only fear.

"Agh stop that screaming. Stop that _screaming_," Jimmy said his cuticles digging into the soft flesh of his scalp "_Stop _**it**."

There was no noise besides the young drug dealer's own pleading but Godric knew what was going on. A sweet smell had hinted the air. The man had a furious sweat upon his brow and his hands trembled uncontrollably. A lone streak of red trickled from the man's mouth, blood from the lip caught between his teeth.

Then there was a shout from just outside in the hallway. A racket started up, the sound of bodies all moving towards the same destination. The time had come to take his leave and as swift as death Godric was gone.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So it was very short. Sorry about that. **

**As always tell me what you think. Drop me a line. Give me your soul. You know just the norm.**

**Yours Truly,**

**Bri  
><strong>


	7. Vampire Jesus

**Disclaimer: I OWN KNOW NOTHING! besides Darla ALL RIGHTS TO CHARACTERS AND STORY OR PLOTLINE INCORPORATED IN THIS WORK BELONGS TO HBO OR SOME SHIT BUT NOT. ME.**

**now lets start this city burning kids :D  
><strong>

**the way your makeup stains my pillowcase  
>Like I'll never be the same<strong>

**- Fall Out Boy, Of All the Gin Joints In All the World  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Darla liked red shoes. She had several pairs of them stacked away in her closet in the Hotel Bella Muerte and throughout her life she had bought and stolen maybe hundreds of pairs all of them different shades and styles but always red.<p>

She could remember exactly when her obsession with footwear of the scarlet variety began. At the age of six Darla was already quite the delinquent. Her best (and only) friend at the time Billy Matthews had shown her how to pick locks and she had set out to practice her new skill.

In the old southern farmhouse where Darla and her grandparents lived there was only one locked door. The Room, it had always been locked. She had never asked why and neither of her grandparents would ever offer up any explanation. It was an unspoken rule that the room was to remained untouched, unknown.

Then on that day Billy Matthews, the town delinquent, had taught her how to break into homes and small businesses alike, Darla ran home and snuck past her grandmother in the kitchen then past her grandfather in his recliner up to the Room. Then like Pandora she unlocked her box and inside of it she found so many horrors that had set her entire life on a downward spiral at the tender age of six and among those nightmares she found a solitary pair of red heels. The first red shoes she ever stole.

* * *

><p><em>Flight is a strange thing<em>.

Godric remembered telling his progeny that when he had taught Eric how to fly. That had been such a wonderful night. To see the wonder and excitement in another's eyes was like living it again. He had felt so light and new in through Eric's eyes.

"Flight is a strange thing," Godric said perhaps to the small shivery body in his arms.

The air was cool up above the smoke and smog of the Dallas. Godric took a moment to enjoy the feeling but found that he felt nothing at all.

"Your employers will not be happy with your disappearance," Godric said definitely addressing Darla this time, "it is in your best interests to steer clear of the red light district for a time."

He set forth through the air towards his place of residence. He was slightly concerned by the fact that the girl had yet to say anything. Godric was afraid that she may have expired from all of the excitement but he felt her chest heave and felt her heart beat. His instincts assured him she was still alive.

There was nothing else that Godric wished to say and the girl would not speak so the rest of the journey was spent in tense silence. When Godric did touch down to the concrete of beginning of his driveway, Darla was halfway dead from shock.

She was pale her wide brown eyes practically eating up all the space on her face. Godric made to put her down so that she could walk herself to the door but thought better of it.

The gates opened and Godric walked up the drive way to the front door where Milton stood waiting for them. At the sight of another human being Darla seemed to snap awake. She pressed her hands into Godric's chest and her heels dug into flesh of his hips as she struggled to get free of him, which Godric allowed.

"Please, please," she said as she stumbled towards the older gentleman who made no move towards the distressed woman, "please you have to help me."

Darla's legs gave out and she hit the ground hard. She bit her lip on impact. She swallowed the blood and continued to go forward.

"Why are you just standing there!" she screamed swaying with the force of her shrieks, "help me _help_ me."

Milton had worked for many vampires. Long before they had "come out of the closet", Milton had been in their employment. He had seen many horrible things, he had witnessed many terrible crimes and he had kept his silence through all of them. He had held his tongue. And this, a girl, a _child_ barely clad in a sheer nightgown her breasts swinging, the flesh of her thin thighs jiggling as she begged and pleaded for help, this was nothing. He didn't even bat an eyelash.

"Shall I run a bath," Milton called to Gordic, "she's filthy."

Godric shook his head and Darla's pleas stopped abruptly. She looked between the two men as if realizing finally the situation she was in.

"No," she slurred a look of pure horror on her face; you could practically hear her heart plop down into her stomach acid, "NO!"

She seemed to burst into motion as she made for the gate. Godric, of course, was having none of this. It would be even more trouble is she got away. He'd probably have to call on Mr. Novak's services again. He ceased her in his arms before she could even get two feet and began to make his way into the house all the while Darla squealed and squirmed.

"No no no no," she said beating her small brown fists into any bit of flesh she could find.

She even landed a few good ones, though Godric could barely even feel them. Then he stopped suddenly, his eyes snapped wide and he looked down at the tiny human in his arms. She had bit him, _actually_ used her teeth to bite into his cold undead flesh. The bloody animal.

Darla stared up at him defiant but Godric could hear her heart. Internal organs never lied. He knew she was scared. He could smell it, the salt and oils seeping through her pores gave him all the proof he needed. He continued on walking past Milton who stood at attention waiting for orders.

Once inside house Godric Darla seemed to calm. She fell silent and limp as if resigned to her fate. Godric set her gently onto the couch disturbed by her sudden change in demeanor. She crumbled to the side leaning all her weight onto one of the arms. Godric crouched down before her peering into the space where her face should be but all he could see was her hair draping long and sepia over her eyes and cheeks.

"Ms. Blake," he said cautiously at first but then again more forceful that time, "Ms. Blake."

There was some movement only a twitching really and then she spoke.

"Are you death?" said the curtain of hair, "have you come to take me away?"

Godric thought about her two questions very hard though his face did not show it. They were not new to him. Many people had asked him those questions, in different languages, different contexts. A hundred variations of the same words but he found there would only ever be on answer to that question.

"Yes," was his reply.

Then she began to sob again. It was a wonder that such a small body could hold so much moisture. All the water poured forth from her eyes. Godric didn't know it but that was the first time Darla had cried in front of a man in four years.

* * *

><p>Godric had been born into life a slave and then brought into death a slave as well. Perhaps that was his lot in life. Perhaps it was that fear that had kept him from meeting the sun. The fear that when he did finally meet the true death all that would be waiting for him in that darkness was slavery. He had done so many dark deeds to emancipate himself from slavery. He had made deals with devils, personal and otherwise and had taken into himself a multitude of evils that would never wash away, even after 2000 years.<p>

Godric had come to terms a long time ago that he would never be _good_. Good was no longer an option but somewhere along the line he had realized that he could at least be civilized. He could learn to be polite.

"Milton," Godric said knowing the suited man would be near by, "perhaps now would be a good time to run that bath."

Darla was still sobbing. The sounds were deep and heavy but so soft that only Godric could hear her. Her hair still hid her face which was raw and covered in snot. Mascara bled from her eyes down her cheeks. A few drops hit the fabric of the beige couch she sat on staining it.

"D-d-don't," she said stuttering from lack of air, "don't be nice."

Godric had been waiting for that. She was sobering up.

"Don't try to be nice about it," she repeated herself finally getting a goddamn grip, "just get it over with."

"I am not going to kill you," Godric said Darla lifted her eyes and peaked our through her hair.

"I'm not going to drink your blood either," Godric continued.

"Then what am I fucking here for," Darla shouted suddenly.

A yelp sounded and echoed from down the hall into the living room. It was the sound of Milton's disapproval of Darla's crass language.

"You are here because you asked to be here," Godric stated standing from his crouched position.

"No, now that is utter bullshit," she said pulling her legs up folding them into her chest, "I never asked to be here, I don't even-"

Godric stood back and waited for her to put it all together. He watched as a think layer of horror and recognition covered her face. He wanted her to remember. She would have to remember if she wanted to ever get better.

"Vampire Jesus?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So it's kinda shit. I know but I just wanted to get it out there because I am gonna be swamped with essays and papers over the weekend and if I didn't finish it now then I probably would have taken another two weeks. **

**Anyway you know the drill, men (and women or whatever). **

**Go do me proud.**


	8. Baptism

Disclaimer: I OWN KNOW NOTHING! besides Darla ALL RIGHTS TO CHARACTERS AND STORY OR PLOTLINE INCORPORATED IN THIS WORK BELONGS TO HBO OR SOME SHIT BUT NOT. ME.

**In a cast iron cage you couldn't help but stare like a creature**  
><strong> With the laws of a brothel and the fireproof bones of a preacher<strong>

- **Beck, Profanity Prayers**

* * *

><p>That was when Milton showed up, a towel draped over his arm and a look of practiced indifference on his face. Godric glanced at the old man then back to Darla and found a vacant vessel.<p>

Her pupils were dilated, wide like saucers. Her lip trembled.

"Vampire Jesus, Vampire Jesus," Darla mumbled and Godric frowned.

Her moment of lucidity seemed to be just that, a moment. Milton waited patiently and Godric gave the elderly gentleman a sympathetic glance. He knew it was inconvenient for him to be moved around continually. Twice the manservant had had to be relocated. Milton's things were all packed neatly into four suitcases and one cardboard box ready to be moved out of the large, though rather empty, suburban house.

"Leave the towel, I will do what is needed," Godric said and then tried his hand at a smile for his employee, "perhaps you should rest now, tomorrow will be a long day."

Tomorrow they would be leaving.

"Of course, sir," Milton replied.

And then he was gone off to find rest in some other place amongst the stacks of cardboard boxes.

Godric coaxed Darla to him. He held out his hands calling softly to her. She was like a wounded animal to him. He said her name and that got her attention. Her eyes grew even wider at the sight of him. Fear.

"I will not hurt you, Darla," he said, "I will not bring you harm."

This was a lie of course. Godric would harm her; he would bring her pain. This was unavoidable, of course. The purging of poison from one's being, spiritual or otherwise was a painful experience but his deceit seemed to convince her.

"I want to go home," she said reaching out for him like a child wishing to be held.

"I wanna go hoooome," she moaned pressing her eyelids together and puckering her mouth.

_The tears will begin if I do not act_, thought Godric.

"Come," Godric said motioning for her to approach, "I will take you home."

Her reaction was immediate. She pushed herself off the couch and into his waiting arms.

_Home home home home. What was home? Where was home? When was home? The man said he will take me home. _

_Home is an old farmhouse with one locked door._

_Home is the soft, musk scented skin of two people who looked nothing like her._

_Home is the smell of piss and stale beer and an old hag that used to be beautiful._

_Home home home. I want to go home._

_Take me home._

* * *

><p>The water was still warm. And Darla made no protest as she slipped into the bath.<p>

Godric had been methodical in the removal of her camisole and the thin lacy fabric that was her underwear. There had been a small struggle when he reached for her thong but he assured her he would not try anything and she relented.

"Vampire Jesus, Vampire Jesus," she mumbled as lowered herself to sit in the full tub.

She had started to repeat that once she stopped moaning about wanting to go home. It irritated Godric a bit but he remained impassive. He retrieved a small bowl that sat on the sink. Milton, ever thoughtful had left it there as well as a bar of soap. Godric got down on his knees and reached the bowl down into the water.

"Vampire Jesus, you were in a cage," she said suddenly breaking from her previous pattern, "you were in a cage how did you get out."

She peered up at him from the bath. Her eyes were glazed over from the effects shock and Ecstasy but she had managed to remember their previous encounter. Godric was hopeful that her foggy mind was clearing finally.

"I didn't," he said softly, "someone broke me out."

"Oh," she replied turning her wide empty gaze away from him.

"Now hold your breath," he said holding the bowl over her head.

She nodded without a word of protest. Godric found that he was hoping that she would not snap out of her drugged state. She was far more compliant than the version of her he had met in her moment of lucidity. He took the water and poured it carefully over her head soaking her light brown hair.

He repeated the process a few more times until most of the dirt, blood and tears had disappeared into the water, which was just the slightest bit browner. Then he reached for the soap and began to work it into her skin and hair.

"I would have broke you out," Darla said causing Godric to pause in his cleansing, "I would have done it but you didn't want to be saved."

Her ramblings had struck a cord in Godric. Was it that obvious? Was his death wish that apparent so that it was written across his forehead where a small sad girl could see it? Godric found that idea to be unsettling.

"You could tell?" he questioned softly a strange feeling rippling through him as he waited for her answer.

Darla didn't say a word though. She looked up at him her hair, now dark with moisture, sticking to her cheeks and lips. She seemed so young in that moment, so innocent. She looked nothing like an experienced whore and drug addict. Then she nodded slowly and Godric realized that it was fear. It was fear he was feeling.

He was afraid of what she would say, of what she saw that night down in the basement.

He was afraid of what she would reveal.

"What," Godric began but couldn't bring himself to finish the question.

_What did you see?_

_Did you see me, little girl? _

_Did you see two thousand years of sin and darkness? _

_Did you see two thousand years worth of guilt and blood?_

But he stayed silent and so did Darla. He reached down again and filled the bowl then poured the water out and over her but found he needed to dunk her. He whispered for her to hold her breath again and then he lowered her slowly beneath the water.

Through the fog in her drugged mind a memory came to Darla. That seemed to be the theme that night. It was old and creased around the edges and wrinkled all the way through but she could still see.

She was five and a half and she had been dressed in her favorite sundress. There was water then as well, a whole lake-full of water. There were other people as well all dressed so nicely but soaking wet.

A man whose name is Pastor places his hand on her head his palm covering her eyes. He whispers in her ear, rambling many strange things about God and spirits. Then he pushes her. He pushes her

Down

Down

Down

She can't breath. She can't speak or scream.

Then the world focused. Cool, dead hands pulled her up and back to Earth, clean and new. The unforgiving air pushed against her lips begging for access to her lungs.

Her lips parted and the world goes rushing in.

She breathed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So here it is! I hope everyone is hanging in there. **

**special thanks to my friend Nicole who gave me the main idea for the conceit of this chapter. **

**as always r&r. **

**yours always,**

**bri**


	9. Unrest in Suburbia

**Disclaimer: I OWN KNOW NOTHING! besides Darla ALL RIGHTS TO CHARACTERS AND STORY OR PLOTLINE INCORPORATED IN THIS WORK BELONGS TO HBO OR SOME SHIT BUT NOT. ME.**

**You can holler you can wail  
><strong>**you can swing you can flail  
>you can fuck like a broken sail<br>but I'll never give you up  
>if I ever give you up<br>my hear will surely fail.**

**- The Kills, Future Starts Slow **

* * *

><p>Godric did not act without fully processing or weighing the pros and cons of his actions. It simply was not within his nature. He was a meticulous creature who planned and weaved and waited. Godric was patient; he was precise and it was all of these skills and attributes that freed him from slavery, got him through world wars, plagues, apocalypses, religious cleansings and it would get him through Darla. Godric made a vow that he was survive that damned human child.<p>

"Oh, oh this is rich," Darla said unraveling her limbs from the protective knot they had been in before, "Jesus _H_ Christ, you're the vampire from the basement."

Darla had a nervous triumphant energy about her and that is because Darla is an idiot. She's a stupid naïve human who still saw the cage around Godric simply because it was how she remembered him but there was no cage around Godric anymore. There was no way to contain him.

"What is this?" she said half way laughing, "you developed some kind of crush on me. Thought you'd burst in and whisk me away, make me fall in love with you?"

Godric did not reply. He could tell she was not finished yet.

"This is some _sick_ bullshit," Darla said she wasn't laughing anymore, "I'm leaving."

She got up but as soon her feet were planted on the floor her ass was back on the cushion half a second later. Godric had pushed her down.

"What the fu-" she began.

"You will not be leaving," Godric said leaving no room for argument that didn't stop Darla from trying but he shut her up, "this is not a declaration of love, this is not a means to a romantic end. You are here because you asked to be here. You asked to be saved and I am here to redeem you."

"Redemption? Is that what this is fucking about?" Darla said standing again but Godric pushed her back onto the couch, "DON'T YOU FUCKING _TOUCH_ ME."

He moved back giving her the space she needed. She was scared and angry two things that when mixed always resulted in an explosion. Then he began to talk slow and smooth like he was trying to soothe a raging beast.

"Yes," Godric said then continued wary of her reaction but not out of fear for himself, "this is about redemption, your redemption and my own."

He was understanding of course as a gentleman should be but he would not tolerate Darla's outbursts for much longer. Besides it would not go over well with the neighbors at all.

"That is fucking creepy do you know that?" Darla said trying to appeal to the vampire's reasonable side as best as she could, "so what do you expect me to do live here with you? get cured? get clean? Become a working member of society? If that's what you're thinking then you got another thing coming, Vampire Jesus."

"No," Godric said, "You will not be living here with me. This home was always temporary. _For me._ For you it will be a monastery, a place of healing."

"Fuck that and fuck you, " Darla said saliva spraying as she spoke, "I'm not sick. This is who I am this is who I _want_ to be. I'M _NOT _SICK. You didn't even ask, you didn't even -"

There was a rush of air as Godric cut her off. He was in her face then irritated and aggravated by her resistance. Three days she took to wake up, _three_. He had not been able to leave the house as scheduled. Milton was already gone but Godric had stayed behind. It would have been unfair to ask the old man to deal with the harpy.

He was beginning to regret it. The whole thing was an inconvenience. The moving, the mess with the explosion, even the girl, _especially_ the girl.

"No, Darla," Godric said severely cutting her off, "_you_ asked. Down in that basement you asked me to save you and I will. You _will_ be saved."

Here is a fact: Godric knew how to act like a gentleman; he knew how a gentleman should speak, how he should walk, talk, even breathe. He conducted himself accordingly, for the most part.

"_Fuck. You._" she said and then spat in his face.

The spit hit him square between the eyes. Warm and sticky, it slid down his face. What happened next was not planned. What happened next was not gentle. What happened next was proof of one fact: despite knowing all the habits and practices of a gentleman, Godric was in fact not a gentleman.

Godric is and always will be what every vampire is, an animal.

"Do not, _do _NOT disrespect a person in that way," he said low and deadly, "never spit, never _use_ that vulgar language while under my care."

He fingers were pressed into the soft flesh of her cheeks. His short nails biting into the skin he could feel the smooth roundness of her teeth through her flesh. Darla looked like a fish with her lips painfully puckered her two front teeth just showing though slightly yellowed but pale compare to the pinkness of her naked lips. She felt ridiculous but more than anything she felt scared.

But that was an understatement, perhaps the understatement of her _year_, perhaps her life. No maybe not that dramatic but she was so much more than scared. She was terrified, paralyzed, petrified and she may or may not have peed just a bit.

"Do you understand," he said slowly enunciating every syllable trying his very hardest to make her grasp the immense weight respect held in his household, in his _existence_.

"Do you understand," he said this time harsher, faster because his patience was already worn thin.

If he had been any other vampire of lesser endurance or fortitude, Darla would have already been dead.

"I do," she whispered through her fish lips.

Satisfied with her answer he let her of her face letting her drop back, stunned and disturbed, into the cushions of the couch. He turned from her too tired of her presence to deal with her directly. He still had a few things to do before sunrise. These tasks mainly consisted of clearing out the house, securing the new house and many many tedious things that didn't really matter to Godric but it mattered to the vampire society.

It mattered how things looked now. It didn't before but the Vampire had changed. No longer was it acceptable to simply massacre the household of a well-off Frenchman and squat in his house for the night. No longer was it stylish to find refuge in the dark rich bosom of the Earth until night came. Now you had to be the Frenchman all dolled up in a too-big house waiting for someone to come an slit your throat. Now you had to sleep in boxes made of something entirely inconvenient like a kind of expensive rare wood or platinum.

Sookie had been right to some extent. Godric had remained relevant but not in the "I can change the world for the better" way that Sookie had suggested but in the "I am a painted whore watch me dance" kind of way. Already the younger and more zealous vampires had shown up at his door pledging their allegiance and swearing that they'd stand behind him if he wished to take his old title back by force.

Godric turned them away of course. He dismissed them with a simple "no thank you" and walked away. The younger ones were always looking for a cause to shed blood for. He had been young once but youth only comes around once and once it's gone it never comes again.

He had no desire to take back his old position as Sheriff. In fact he could not remember why he had taken the job on in the first place. Out of boredom, he assumed.

"Wait," Darla called out Godric let out a sigh of irritation, "wait please just let me go. I don't want this. _You_ don't even really want this, I can tell. Just let me walk out that door and I swear I won't look back."

Godric turned and looked at the young woman and saw the desperation and fear on her face. He saw her humanity and something stirred within him. It was very small and sickly. It should have been crushed after 2000 years of dealing with this would but it had somehow survived. It had survived long enough to spur the smallest bit of sympathy within the ancient vampire.

"I _am_ sorry," he said kneeling down before her so that he could look into her eyes, "I have placed guards all along the perimeter and they have been instructed to capture and return you to the house unharmed."

At his words Darla began to sob again with her eyes wide open. Godric also kept his eyes open to watch her crumble and crack for the umpteenth time that night. It was strangely comforting to watch her crash and burn. He placed a hand upon her hands that were in her lap in a reassuring manner.

"However I would not put much faith in those men," Godric said as a friendly warning, "especially taking into account your current manner of undress."

Godric was, of course, referring to the thin and nearly see through chemise she wore. He meant nothing by his observation other than to point out a fact. He knew very well that Darla was a woman who sold sex. He knew that she was drug addict who had mostly likely sold her body to support her habit but he had no room to judge. Darla had never taken a life that had not already been spent and she had never massacred a French household and sodomized the women, men and children of said household.

Godric knew he really had no right to judge.

"I do not as of now have any alternative clothing for you," Godric said standing and making to leave, "when I return I will bring the essential supplies to make your life here as comfortable as needed."

And with that he was gone, off into the night to do something or other leaving Darla to her own devices.

There was no escape. No one was coming for her; she was a druggie prostitute. No one cared about her if she wasn't fucking somebody. There was something freeing about that thought yet absolutely terrifying. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath and considered her options.

It took her a couple of hours to calm herself, the house growing even darker as the night went on. This was not the first time Darla had gotten herself into a tight spot. Being a teenaged hooker fresh from Kentucky down in New Orleans had given her quite a lot of experience in kidnapping and people with strange and terrifying fetishes. She'd never dealt with vampires however and perhaps that was the only part that really scared her about her situation.

She couldn't just make a run for it; Vampire Jesus had made that quite obvious. Darla thought with bitter humor that he had actually done her a favor telling her about the guards. Putting up with or rather putting out for security guards had never been Darla's favorite after school activity.

Darla took another breath to steady herself completely. A deathly chill came over her senses and dangerous calm filled her mind as she ran through every option she had. She got up from the couch and moved to a small window that sat just above the sink in the connecting kitchen.

It took a while for her to see it through the dark but there it was another roof just about 20 feet away. If she looked harder she could see the faint outlines of windows all darkened. She could imagine the sounds of sleep and nightmares pouring out of those windows. Oh how she _hated_ suburban housing. She had spent enough time fucking the people who lived thee to know that it was hell just like ever other place she'd been. The only difference being the price tag.

She glanced around the kitchen looking for something that she knew would be there. Her eyes fell upon the four-burner stove that sat against the wall. An idea came to her like a seraph to Mary. She went around the side of it to check if it was what she needed. She was pleased to see that it was in fact a gas stove.

"Nothing like a bit of unrest in suburbia to start your off the night," she mumbled under her breath giggling to herself.

A lesson that Godric would learn that night: Darla was, in fact, completely mad and one should never ever provoke madness.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: whoooooo I'm not dead! :DDD sorry folks I've been real busy. Can I just say I hate English teachers. The majority of the ones I've had have been complete arseholes. ****I've come to terms with the fact that loving to read and write doesn't exactly mean you should be an English major it just means you love to read and write. **

**AAAAAANYWAY. Hope you enjoyed this part. yes I know it is quite short and perhaps riddled with grammatical errors but do be kind...or not. either way send me you hate or love (if you feel charitable). **

**love and kisses**

**bri**


	10. Alive

Disclaimer: I OWN KNOW NOTHING! besides Darla ALL RIGHTS TO CHARACTERS AND STORY OR PLOTLINE INCORPORATED IN THIS WORK BELONGS TO HBO OR SOME SHIT BUT NOT. ME.

**Come take my pulse, the pace is on a runaway train  
>Help, I'm alive.<strong>

* * *

><p>He had been in the middle of a conversation when a nameless, faceless vampire whispered in his ear.<p>

"There is a phone call for you, sir," the vampire whispered.

It was a nice gesture to try to keep his business private but whispering in a room full of vampires is like trying to kill a mosquito with a shotgun, both useless and a little bit ridiculous. Everyone including the vampire he had been talking to had heard.

An old "friend" had decided to throw him a house warming "party" of course not at his own home, which was still an empty shell. It took place in a house way out away from the city of Dallas where the bright lights could not reach. All his plans to secure the property and direct the movers had been ruined. He could not complain however. No really he couldn't complain.

The vampire he had been talking to, a mocha-skinned woman dressed in sari of many different shades of red, nodded slightly when he looked to her for permission to end their conversation. He bowed deeply and asked her to excuse his sudden need to leave. Always playing the gentleman, Godric was.

The vampire, who was very tall almost a foot and a half taller than Godric, led him to the phone. The phone was located in a rectangular room, which contained only a chair and a table on which a vintage black rotary phone sat. The host of the party was nostalgic for the 50s. The room was lined with three feet of steel for privacy purposes. The younger vampire then bowed deeply before leaving Godric to enter the room alone.

"This is Godric," he said into the receiver.

"Sir, there has been an explosion," said a voice from the other side of the line.

* * *

><p>First thing's first, Darla is not a rocket scientist. She is a high school drop out from Kentucky who became a hooker. So she didn't do calculations or equations because she didn't even know they existed. She did know that gas plus open flame equals BOOM and that was good enough.<p>

She didn't plan on being face down in the dirt hidden in the with all the skin on her left arm burnt to a crisp but alas that's how things turned out for our pretty little girl.

There was a sound in her head like a siren. High-pitched and screeching along the insides of her brain the sound would not let her close her eyes and sleep. It wasn't until a warm breeze passed over her burnt body that Darla realized that it was pain that was sounding away in her brain. It was pain that kept her awake long enough for someone to find her.

"We've got a live one out back, sir," a voice came from over Darla, "she looks to have some bad burns down her left side but she' still breathing."

Darla made a sound, low and guttural at the fireman's statement. There was no meaning to the sound; she wasn't trying to get out words. She just needed to make some kind of noise. She needed to know she was still alive.

The man didn't pick her up immediately, however he stayed with her until a stretch came. He didn't touch her or say a word not even in solace but he stayed by her side. Every ten seconds or so he'd crouch down and check her breathing. Darla felt they made a real connection.

"Miss can you hear me," said a young blonde man he shone a bright light into her eyes watching for dilation of the pupils, "we need to get her to a hospital. I can't treat her here."

The young man was just starting out as an EMT. In fact he shouldn't have even been on that shift but the regular worker had mysteriously disappeared. Family emergency they had said. Point is, Young and Blonde (that's what we'll call him) didn't exactly know how things worked on that shift. He didn't realize it wasn't the Hippocratic Oath that drove them anymore. It was money, blood money.

"We have orders to keep her here," said an older man, he was graying at the sides.

He would have had the perfect shade of honey auburn if it wasn't for that gray.

"Jeeze Mitchell," Young and Blonde said, "since when do you have _orders_? This woman needs a hospital. She could be going into shock as we speak!"

Mitchell, unlike his younger compatriot, had been on that shift for a long time, longer than he had ever planned. He had seen things. He had done things all for the sake of money. And those vampires, those damned vampires they sure had a lot of money. Mitchell looked at Young and Blonde and resolved to forget his face. Mitchell would make sure Young and Blonde never got on that shift again. He'd get the brat fired if that's what it took. Anything to save another person from the fate he suffered.

"God are you two gonna kiss," Darla mumbled under her breath, "just kiss already."

She could taste the mud that was still caked on her lips and the side of face. The burn had been bandaged and treated but it still hurt like a bitch. She couldn't move it without needing to barf. Not that she really regretted the explosion. The whole thing was absolutely enthralling. Her now-crispy right arm and left side was just a minor set back.

The two EMTs continued to have a lover's spat so wrapped up in their own story they didn't see the young woman steal a few doses of pain meds and exit through the front door.

Darla wrapped the shock blanket around her but was wary of her arm and side. Sure she was in pain and the meds they had given her made her a bit woozy but Darla had had worse. But not actually. She'd never been blown up before. She'd never been burnt to a crisp. Darla was in deep shit and she knew when she got back to her world she'd have scars.

But nobody cares about scars when they're on a whore.

Her bare feet slapped the pavement as she walked away from the cacophony of sirens and police radios. No one noticed her; no one even cared. People stood on the side of the road standing on tippy-toes and peer out their windows to watch the house burn. No one saw the young burnt whore stumbling down the side of the road darting this way and that from the painkillers they had given her. They were all too distracted by the pretty lights, consumed by the tangle and tumble or red, orange, blue, and yellow. Like moths to a flame they watched that house go up in smoke.

* * *

><p>Though one person saw her but this person was not really a person, not by definition or under the constitution of the United States of America but the VRA was working on that. Godric amongst his once neighbors watched as the fire men fought valiantly to calm the flames but there would be extensive damage. He would have to find a temporary place of refuge for the girl.<p>

He had been there to see the fireman pull the girl out of the dirt. He had seen the two EMT arguing over something or other. And he had seen her slip away unnoticed.

Godric watched silently as the girl swayed in the street. The dim lamps above her shinnied down making halos around her feet the blanket pooling behind her. She looked lost but she was lost long ago more than anything she looked determined. She was so determined to get back, back to a world that would hate her and poison her. Humans were such strange things, creatures of habit to the death.

"Morning sunshine birds and bees," Darla sang putting one foot in front of another, "they found her drifting in the reeds –"

"You blew up my house," Godric said stepping into the light.

Darla continued forward as though he had not even spoken. Godric found that he was unwilling to help her run away back to her Hotel Bella Murete and reluctant to provoke the mad human further. However he had already resolved to keep the human and finding no other option he followed her. Trailing behind her about three feet back, he felt like a fool.

"You blew up my house," Godric repeated just the slightest edge to his tone.

"You kidnapped me," was Darla's curt reply.

She did not stop walking and as soon as she finished her retort she continued the lullaby. Godric nodded diplomatically showing her that he was listening. But Darla could not see him and she couldn't care less if he understood.

"I did," Godric replied the sound of his steps growing louder the further away they moved from the wreck, "but I did so only because it is what you asked of me."

"_Bullshit_."

Darla turned and spat out the word. Her arm began to ache and her feet felt swollen.

"Ms. Blake we've already discussed the use of crass language," Godric replied coolly hands in his pockets eyes straight ahead, "and as I've stated before, you asked me to save you. You asked me to be your savior."

_You asked for it Darla. You've been asking for it for a long time._

Darla looked at him small and dark even under the orange streetlamps. He looked so calm, so _fucking_ calm. It made her want to spit. It made her want to tear up his expensive threads and leave him as naked and exposed as she felt.

"That's – that's not what I –" Darla said her throat constricting squeezing the words and contorting them to a jumbled mess, "I didn't mean it _please_ just let me go now."

Godric remained silent.

"I toldyou. I _warned _you that it wasn't worth it. I tried to tell you that you didn't have to do," Darla said gaining courage she moved towards him, "this is your fault. You're the one who drove me to this. I TOLD YOU TO FUCKING LET ME GO!"

This time Godric did not comment on her crass language. He only watched the small sick woman crumble before him. Perhaps it was pity, perhaps it was guilt but when her knees gave and she began to fall he finally moved to hold her up.

"I don't want to be saved anymore," Darla hissed feverishly her resolve fragile steel, "I'll take responsibilities for my sins on my own time. I don't need you."

Godric considered her words for a moment. Oddly enough he felt no disgust or annoyance at the girl's close proximity. She smelled of dirt, gasoline and the generic brand of washing soap from the night before. The heat of her body was too small and thin to be constricting and the steady push and pull of her breath at the center of his chest was like the beat of a heart.

It was small and suffering but her words moved something in him. Her speech was brash and too bold for him to really feel any admiration for it, too much passion. He had never been very passionate even in while he was alive. Passion resulted in rash behavior and rash behavior only ever amounted to trouble.

But it was there that Thing, that terrible and wonderful _Thing_. And Godric could not shake the thought that if perhaps this child was so willing to answer for her sins and her prayers and curses that perhaps she would be willing to answer for his. And if he could just get her to accept his offer, to accept his help then maybe he could answer for her.

He remembered Sookie's words but she was wrong. It wasn't about difference or the making of it. He didn't want different. Everything was different and everything was not. All things that have changed are still made of the same substance only with a novel configuration.

He wanted something new. He wanted something fresh and breathing. What was that Thing? That Thing which stirred at her words that awoke as if given milk and honey in the middle of a draught.

_Purpose._

_Ah, I see._

She was waiting for his answer.

"It's not just about you anymore," was his honest reply.

She looked up then. Her look should have burned him but he was immortal and nothing that was ever so small and insignificant as a human life could ever mark that which is eternal. She seemed so unimpressed with his admission but for the first time Darla didn't hate him. She sure as hell didn't like him and there was no place in her heart for sympathy but she didn't hate him.

She felt again what she had felt down in that basement. It was not love or empathy or even comradery for they did not stand on equal ground. Rather she had the queerest feeling as though she were looking into a mirror with the tiniest pinhole at the center and if she even so much as glanced at that small blemish she would sink down and down through it, into the universe and disappear.

So what was it that she felt? What was that thing that stirred in the place where her heart should be?

_Purpose._

_Well I'll be damned._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So I'm not dead...yet.**_  
><em>


	11. Half a Person

Disclaimer: I died, fought hell demons, ate some pie, came back and I still don't own shit.

**Call me morbid  
>Call me pale<br>I spent six year on your trail**

**- Half a Person, the Smiths**

* * *

><p>"So what do we do now," Darla said still leaning against her captor.<p>

Godric did not reply right away. Instead he gripped her shoulders and pushed her away from him finding that he had grown tired of her touch. He waited for her to stop swaying before letting go. He stepped back to survey the damage.

Her arm had been bandaged indicating injury and the way she favored her left told of a sprain of some sort. There was no doubt further injury but she had made it that far without causing much more damage and therefore she could walk back. Besides Godric was suspicious that carrying her might have caused more trauma to parts already damaged.

"We go back," he said after his assessment, "review our losses and hope they are not extensive."

Godric promptly moved past her towards the wreckage of his former abode. Darla however was not so quick to start back.

"Whoa hold the fuck up," Darla said limping after him.

Seeing her struggle to match his pace, Godric slowed until they were in sync. It took her a while to catch her breath again but she managed to keep a good steady pace considering had just been blown up 30 minutes ago. Darla was just grateful that he had made a move to carry her. Although the details were a little fuzzy she was absolutely sure that the little fucker could fly and there was no way in hell she was letting his little flapping butt cheeks propel her into the sky again.

"I'm not going back there," Darla said but then stumbled and fell to her knees scrapping her knees, "fuck."

Godric paused and waited patiently for her to rise again only for her to stumble back to the asphalt. He considered briefly helping her up but thought better of it. The harpy would probably just refuse his help and start with the profanities and the shrieking. Honestly, Godric had just about enough of that. So instead he was patient. He waited for her to stand.

"I'm not gonna live there in that cage," Darla said once she got her footing again, "like I'm some sorta animal."

She began to hobble forward even more slowly than before even Godric found the pace or lack there of taxing. Ever the gentleman, Godric held out his arm indicating that he was offering her assistance. Darla stared blankly at the crook of his arm as though it was the first one she'd ever saw but then after a few seconds she raise her hand and placed it at the apex of his forearm and upperarm. For about a minute the two walked in silence before either one spoke. Darla leaned into the cold and strangely squishy body besides her and Godric stared ahead to the blinking lights at the end of the street.

"But you are an animal," Godric said matter-of-factly.

Darla stopped in her tracks.

"What the hell-"

"And my house is not a cage. It is a house obviously," Godric continued cutting her off.

Godric could never understand

"What the actual fuck?" Darla said her small tan fingers still in the crook of his arm.

"It is not really a personal belief or opinion of you all but rather an idea that permeates our culture," Godric said beginning to walk again.

Darla's hand was still wedged between Godric's forearm and bicep. And so she was dragged along as he set their pace.

"What the fuckin' fuck? What the hell is wrong with all of you?" Darla said confused both by what he said and what he meant, " I have no idea what you just said now but why the fuck you all gotta be so fuckin' messed up?"

"Is that your favorite word?" Godric replied more curious than offended.

He couldn't figure out what her obsession with crass language was especially that particular curse. Cursing had its time and place but Darla seemed to feel it is was always the time and the place to swear.

"Which?" Darla replied her face still pinched and her lips pressed tightly together.

Godric gave her a look as if to say 'don't play stupid'. Darla's look replied 'I'm not playing'.

"Oh you mean fuck," Darla said then scoffed, "psh no, what a stupid fucking question."

"Why?" Godric said suddenly almost offended by her statement.

He didn't know why he cared what she thought of him. Perhaps it was something left of his pride. Being over 2000 years old you can understand why Godric had some semblance of an ego. And perhaps her insult of his intellect bruised his already anemic ego. She was such a simple-minded creature at times painfully so. Yet at other times she was strange and mildly interesting. Godric was not so full of pride and his ego not so large that he would deny that the girl piqued some kind of curiosity in him when they had first met. And it had been that quirk about her that convinced him to start this whole damn _thing_ between them.

He also was not so prideful that he could not admit that he had a feeling that perhaps he had made a mistake in finding her again.

"Because it is," Darla mumbled feeling timid.

It seemed as though Darla remembered exactly what her position was. She was a tiny frail, injured woman walking besides the deadliest being in all of Texas and she had just called him stupid. She could feel the intensity building in the vampire besides her.

The mood was something like that night down in the basement. Darla looked up to see his lips quirked slightly to the right. His lips were puckered just the tiniest bit and his left eyebrow inching towards the center of his forehead. Darla had the faintest feeling of familiarity at the sight of his expression. Through the haze of being swung violently between nausea from the pain and nausea from the pain medication she realized she had seen that expression before.

It was the same expression he had worn down in the basement when she had asked him about whatsherface he had killed. It was the expression he had donned when she had tried to give him that coupon she had in her pocket before leaving. He was questioning her. He was questioning her motives and her worth.

He was wondering if she was worth all the bullshit.

"No, Ms. Blake," Godric said quietly the sound of sirens and human panic nearly sounding up ahead, "_why_?"

Darla found herself at a crossroads. The little twerp was really big on the double-meaning thing with all of the cryptic underlying messages. Darla was good at double-meanings. Hookers knew all about hidden meanings what with all the double-entendre and euphemisms that go into selling sex.

And so she had to choose. The right answer or the wrong one. Only she didn't know which was which and what the outcome would be for each one. The sounds were growing louder and on the asphalt she could see the round fuzzy shapes cast in blue and magenta.

Time was running and soon the chance would pass. So she took a gamble. Darla was all about gambling. She gambled with her life when she stole all the money and dug out of town. She gambled even greater when she came back. All Darla ever did with her life was gamble so for the heck of it she decided to roll the dice one more time. Of all the bullshit she could have fed him, of all the pretty or horrible lies she could have spun she chose the truth.

"It's a stupid question," Darla said.

She tried to match his intensity but failed. Her busted lip and singed eyebrow threw off the sincerity in her eyes. Godric saw it however.

"It's stupid because I don't have favorites," Darla continued as two EMT, the ones from before, rushed towards her grabbing at her arms, "because I hate everything, everything except for red shoes."

She smiled wryly at him as the two larger men pulled her away shouting orders to the other hospital employees. Godric got a good look at her as she struggled against the two EMT. She had dark circles under her eyes even despite her warm coloring. Her hair was stringy and matted. In some places her could see the evidence of her arson on her body. She looked completely mad.

And yet he felt the strangest mixture of curiosity and surprisingly affection for the girl as she spat profanities at the two men. He found that it was entertaining to see her crude ways thrown at someone else. He still found Darla's language grating but so did the other men. He found the similarities of his and the other men's reactions comforting. There was a sense of comradery found in being offended by that woman.

"Sir!" a young blonde man called to him.

He was pretty boy and he reminded Godric very much of Eric. The young man had blue eyes ablaze. Those were the eyes of a youth untainted by the failings of his fellow man. The world had yet to let him down.

"Sir!" the boy said again this time louder and just a hint of irritation, "please answer the question."

Godric smiled politely obviously unnerving the poor boy.

"Forgive me, it has been a long night," Godric replied placing his hands in the pockets of his dress pants, he decided he would change them once he got back home, "I can assure you no blood was shared between I and Ms. Blake. Of that she is clean."

Young and Blonde gave Godric the side-eye but nodded his head. He then turned away to go tend to his new _violent_ ward. Then Mitchell came a worried look on his face.

"Em, he's new," he said feeling uncomfortable under the ancient vampire's gaze, "he's not really with program if ya know what I me-"

"Yes," Godric said cutting the nervous man off, "I know what you mean."

Godric sometimes found dealing with Mitchell's type of human tedious. They were always so jittery. Mitchell nodded his eyes darting up to Godric's face then down to the asphalt. After a few moments of awkward eye-dancing Mitchell nodded again and turned to leave.

"Take good care of her," Godric said pleasantly surprised that he actually meant it, "please."

Eventually the ambulance left and so did the crowd of humans in their nightwear. Godric of course stayed behind to survey the damage first hand. The kitchen was unsalvageable and he was glad he had been able to relocate his library before he had unleashed the natural disaster of Darla on his former living space. After about 20 seconds Godric deemed the place unlivable for at least a month of repairs.

He should have been mildly upset. It would be a lot of trouble finding Darla another living space. Already he had the problem of somehow keeping her from blowing up the next house. However he was preoccupied with a thought. He found himself mumbling a single phrase, an inquiry really.

"Red shoes?"

* * *

><p>When she woke up it was morning.<p>

The morning light filtered in through the blinds slicing across the pale linoleum floors. Blades of light cut across the puke green blanket of her bed and over her aching legs. Her side was sore and she found it was impossible to move without wanting to vomit from the agony.

"My grandmother taught me how to croquet," a voice said from the bedside, "the other boys used to call me names and do things to me because of it. They did the strangest things just to make a point that they hated what I was."

Darla tried to turn her head to face the body attached to the voice but found she also couldn't turn to her with out entering the seventh circle of hell. Instead she swiveled her eyes as far she could in the direction the voice came. She could see it was the Asian man from before, Milton.

"I'm quite good at it too," he said brightly but then his tone darkened, "though I could be better."

Darla parted her lips to speak but found all that came out was a high-pitched hiss of air passing through the dry canal of her throat. Milton glanced over at the young lady before sighing and putting the half melted cup of ice chips to use.

"There, isn't that better?" Milton said in a ways that Darla understood meant that he required no answer.

Milton returned to his crocheting and Darla focused on making her voice work. After a few minutes of silence Milton spoke again.

"She died twenty years ago," he said this time stopping his work, "do you know what she did the day before she died?"

Darla shook her head.

"She broke every single one of my fingers," he said, "she had dementia and thought I was a robber. I never could croquet quite as well after that."

Milton shook his head then went back to counting loops. Darla made a sound that sounded vaguely like "I'm sorry". Milton nodded in thanks to the useless apology.

"So who taught you how to blow up a house?" Milton asked truly curious.

The girl had created quite a commotion. She created so many problems for his employer in just one night. Frankly, he was impressed.

"My first boyfriend," Darla replied her voice still red raw but decipherable, "he broke my collar bone once."

"Mine did too," Milton said, "ah to be young and in love."

It was quiet after that particularly bitter statement. Darla's mind was off in space wondering wonders upon wonders. If the old dude was there that meant she was still under Vampire Jesus' thumb. He'd becoming back for her. Darla's first instinct should have been to run. Instead she asked Milton a question.

"So are ya human?" Darla asked her voice only as bad as though she had a major hangover.

"Why do you ask?" he replied and Darla heard the soft hazy sound of cotton sliding against a metal needle.

Milton has started crocheting again.

"Well you're not a vampire," Darla replied matter-of-factly, "I can see that."

Darla was of course refereeing to the sunlight now running like liquid copper running across the room.

"And if not human or vampire then what would I be?" Milton asked in return.

Darla pondered over the question for a little bit. She had not been very much into the occult in her lifetime. Her caretakers were not very keen on reading her fairytales when she was a child. She was not very in the know about those kinds of things but something about the older gentleman made her wonder if he was more than human.

Or less.

"I suppose the big question everyone's been asking themselves for the past few years is that if vampires exist then what else does," Darla stated matter of factly, "so I'm asking you: are you human?"

Milton paused. It was his turn to ponder.

"I don't see how it could matter," was his reply.

Darla rolled her eyes at the evasive statement.

"It does," she said sternly.

Frankly, Darla was getting real tired of all the supernatural bullshit. Flying Vampire Jesus and all that blood bullshit was just not her scene. So she need to know, she just need to know what she was dealing with here.

"Why?" he said curtly.

"Because it just _does_ okay?" she bit out.

The tension was thick in the air. The two of them waited for other to break. Milton wanted the girl to let issue drop. Darla wanted the old bastard to just spit it out. In the end it was Darla who held her silence the longest. To be fair it was only because she was convinced that her throat would bledd if she tried to talk.

"No," Milton said, "I don't think I've been human for a very long time."

"Me neither," Darla replied nodding her head, "I don't think anyone can afford it nowadays."

Milton hmm'd in response and continued to crochet. Darla closed her eyes but did not fall asleep. She was so tired but she was too anxious. And so with nothing else to do the two humans waiting in silent tension for night to come and with it the vampire that ran their lives.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So its been a while. **

**but I'm back.**


	12. Stuck

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**hi guise...sorry if this sucks. its been a while hasn't it?**

* * *

><p>Chapter 12<p>

The doctor had looked skeptical as Godric introduced himself as Darla's caretaker. His left eyebrow was quirked up as high as it could go and the corner of his mouth was twisted into a frown of disbelief.

"She is sick," Godric said.

Dr. Bradley had been part of the population that had a hard time adjusting to vampires. It was due partly to the fact that Dr. Bradley was a man of science. Vampires should not exist. They didn't make sense and according to Dr. Bradley's logic that meant that they could not exist. The other part was also because of his pride. Dr. Bradley had been a doctor for a long time. He thought he knew Death and all of the tricks of the trade but vampires changed the game and that send nearly 35 years of practice out the window. And now one stood before him claiming guardianship over a doped up young lady. He barely looked out of his teens.

"Yes," Dr. Bradley replied, "I can see that."

He lifted the young lady's chart so he could look down at it through the reading glasses that sat almost at the end of his nose. His eyes read over the paper once again the quirk in his mouth twisting even further. A sigh escaped his dry chapped lips. He raised a hand to his forehead to brush back the graying hair from his face.

"It says here that she has copious amounts of heroin in her system," Bradley looked over the medical chart making sure to absorb all of the gory details, "and LSD, not to mention the injuries sustained by what I'm told was a small house fire but to be honest Mr. Braoin if you are in fact this young lady's caretaker I can't say that you've done a very good job of it. She's lucky to even be alive."

Like Eric, Godric had decided to take a surname once vampires came out of the closet. He supposed it fit him well enough. Godric found that he agreed with the doctor. Darla was beyond troubled and now he realized that she was also clever. She also showed signs being vicious and completely insane. He would have to be far more careful in the future.

"Yes I completely agree," Godric made sure to smile and sound pleasant, he even feigned breathing, "due to an unfortunate train of events she came to be out of my care and then well, I'm sure you can imagine what happened next."

His tone was all charm and honey. Eric had to get it from somewhere and it surely wasn't his Viking heritage. Godric smiled and the doctor could almost hear the muscles creaking. He looked to be no older than eighteen if Dr. Bradley was being generous but there was something in the curve of Godric's chin, the color of his hair or the way he moved as if there was a fine layer of dust falling from him. He seemed to be a mottled mirror reflecting an ancient light akin to that which saw the dawn of the world.

Dr. Bradley was not amused.

He just about had it with all these damn vampires.

"So you see," Godric continued, "how much trouble she can get into when I'm not around to keep her safe, to keep her from herself."

The more and more Godric lied the more disturbed he became by just how truthful his lies were becoming. Was that not the actual nature of their relationship? Was he not keeping her captive from herself and the world that she had known before? He could understand why the doctor was reluctant to hand Darla over to Godric's care.

The longer Godric stood there the more uncomfortable he felt. He no longer wished to speak with the doctor. He simply wished to procure his ward and leave stench of that cold white walled place behind. Hospitals, to him, always seemed too clean to be a place where people came to die. This was the new death, a small room with a pastel curtain and recycled air. It was terrifying to see your replacement.

"I'd like to take her home now if that is possible," Godric said his tone having nothing of a question in it.

Dr. Bradley raised an eyebrow. This was not his first time around the block. He had seen situations like this before, all the red flags flying. His grip on the clipboard tightened and so did the muscle of his jaw. Dr. Bradley wanted to say something; he wanted to be the poor girl's savior.

But Godric had papers to prove his statement. The position of savior was filled.

"I'd like to keep her here for a couple more days," Dr. Bradley said hoping to have more time with the girl if only to keep her safe for a couple more days.

He thought maybe he or one of the nurses could coax a statement from her.

"That won't be necessary," Gordric said perfectly polite, "I am more than capable of tending to her."

"Yes I'm sure," Dr. Bradley replied, "that's exactly what the gentleman who is with her now assured me when we informed him last that visiting hours were over. He has yet to leave."

He was talking about Milton of course. Before retiring to ground, Godric had asked his employee to check in on Ms. Blake. He didn't realize that the old gentleman had stayed so long. Godric thought mildly that he would have to relieve his manservant of his duties.

"Then I will be escorting her home immediately," Godric said before turning to leave.

Godric was nearly in a peaceful mood. Repairs to his former home in the suburbs had begun immediately and he had figured out how to keep Darla safe from herself. All in all things seemed to be moving in the direction that Godric needed them to move. It was nearly satisfying.

"Not quite," Dr. Bradley said glancing back down at the clipboard feeling just a little smug, "there are a few tests we have to run before we can release her. That is if you still count her physical health and the continuance thereof your main priority."

"Of course," Godric said the syllables slipping easily from his lips not even a glimpse of the blade his irritation shone through.

"I assume you'll be wanting to see her then?"

Dr. Bradley received no answer. The place that Godric had occupied only seconds before was empty. Dr. Bradley didn't even bother to look up. He knew the vampire had gone to see the young lady. There was something strange going on, the good doctor was sure of it.

He had seen many girls and women go through his ward and it was sad to say that the worst cases were usually followed by some kind of sugar daddy or keeper but none had ever been vampires. The cynical part of the doctor's mind wanted to think that vampires just killed the girls that got damaged or turned them so that they'd never have to worry about damage ever again. He'd like to think that creatures that could live for hundreds of years were just better at doing business and took better care of the girls.

Despite the six figures Dr. Bradley made every year all he could do was hope. His money didn't stop the girls that come through his ward from getting murdered and raped in middle of the night. His money didn't stop the cancer from spreading or the tumor from becoming aggressive. All money ever did was buy him a nice house and an expensive bed that he could hardly sleep in at night.

Dr. Bradley left the hallway. There were other people he had to see, more bad news to tell or good. Fate was funny that way. And as a doctor, Bradley was a slave to fate. The fate of his patients, the fate of their loved ones, Fate always weighed heavy on his arms like iron manacles. And the best that he could hope for was that he would continue his night and return home when his shift was through to sleep in his expensive bed and his expensive house with only a bit of unease.

* * *

><p>As Godric made his way through the ward he caught glimpses of the other people in their rooms. Some rooms were happier than others, full of balloons that read "congratulations" or "ITS A BOY!". Other rooms were dark and empty save for the dying man or woman left to face the eternal darkness alone. He couldn't not feel sorry for any of them though not for lack of trying. How could a monster feel sorry for the weak and dying?<p>

He was almost there when he considered that perhaps he should have brought something for her, flowers perhaps or maybe balloons. There was no one else to bring them for her. He had made sure of that.

_Kidnapping, traumatizing and now you're isolating her from anyone who could take her away and possibly do a better job at helping her._

Godric felt uneasy at that particular strand of thought. He wasn't exactly sure where it came from but it sounded all too much like Eric.

_Are you sure you're helping her?_

Ah! And there! He almost saw the curve of his childe's lips pulling and rippling the skin of his pale face into an arrogant smirk. He felt a brief flood of affection Eric at the mere thought of him but it dampened instantly. An uncomfortable feeling wiggled its way across his brow and he was left scowling at the linoleum floor just outside Darla's door. _Was_ he helping her? Or were his efforts borne purely from his own selfishness and will to live?

"Good evening, sir," Milton said diverting Godric's train of thought.

Godric glanced up to find his manservant standing in the now-open doorway to Darla's room. The elder gentleman was dressed casually and his hair was not yet made, Godric enjoyed seeing Milton in such an informal state. Far too often was any kind of relief or happiness perverted and betrayed by formality.

"I was just about to look for you, sir," Milton continued once it seemed that Godric would not reply, "I was concerned that perhaps they held you up at the front desk."

Godric only shook his head an entered the room. Milton backed away to let his boss inside. It was only very often that Milton had seen his superior in such a state. Many times the very old but very young man would loose himself in thoughts unsavory or unsafe. Milton was certain at time that Godric would turn to stone and he would be out of a job.

The curtain around her bed had been drawn. Godric was glad for it. He couldn't remember the last time he had ever felt sick. Perhaps it was when Eric had found him and stared confused into his eyes the questions and accusations already filling the look of his gaze. Yes that was the last time he felt so sick as he did when looking at the green patterned curtain that bloked Darla from his view.

"The girl requested whiskey," Milton said.

That broke Godric from his morbid train of thoughts, as though he had any other kind.

"I, of course, suggested that apple juice would be a better choice," Milton explained.

He did not smile or smirk at the expression on his employer's face. Milton was highly trained in the art of never showing what he felt.

"I figured the color was close enough," there was a metallic whir as the curtain was drawn back.

"Hey there Vampire Jesus," Darla said and smiled widely.

And strangely, Godric felt near to nothing at the sight of her. There was no burning truth or bleeding desire poking holes in his chest. He did not feel remorse or offense at the sight of her beaten face and limbs. No, all the bruises, cuts and breaks were her own doing. He felt nothing for her except a slow sinking sickness that touched the two corners of his lips turning his line of his mouth into a frown.

"What's up, Vampire Jesus," Darla said continuing to use that silly nickname, "not happy to see me?"

"Of course not," Godric replied easily ignoring the sickness she brought him, "have you see yourself lately."

That got her to laugh. Not a very loud nor was it a very large laugh but she did place her hands upon her stomach and close her eyes as the sound came from her mouth. It was a grating sound.

"I didn't know you could joke," Darla replied.

She was in a good mood. She found that to be the strangest part of her day or night she supposed considering Godric had finally arrived. Milton had been good company. It was nice to just sit down and talk with man who wasn't just there to fuck her, a rare occurrence for Darla.

"That was not a joke," Godric moved closer to her bedside before sitting down in the seat that Milton had previously occupied, "you look very poorly."

Darla glanced across the room to find that Milton had already left. She frowned finding that she missed the little old man's presence. She had no idea how to react to her other visitor.

"Planning an escape?" Godric had picked up one of the medical magazines from the table just besides his seat.

Darla shook her head and although he was not looking at her Darla was certain that he knew what her response would be. How could she be planning an escape? An escape from what? Besides it wasn't like she had much of a place to escape to, as soon as she got back to the Hotel Bella Muerte there would be hell to pay.

"I was just thinking how the heck did I get myself into this mess," Darla said falling back into her pillow, "you know I didn't even believe that vampires existed for like six months or so after the great reveal or whatever."

"No?" Godric replied half-heartedly.

There was a very interesting article on the long-term effects of chronic vampire blood use.

"Yea I guess I just didn't want to believe it," she picked at a scab on the palm of her hand, "it was almost offense, you know? Well I don't know if you know, but it just made me feel sick."

Godric put down his magazine and turned his attention to Darla. She looked at him for a little while as if gauging his reaction to her words. She tried to convince herself that she didn't want to offend him but there was no use. Of course she wanted to offend him, she wanted to do something to him, at least get a little rise for her words.

"Why the sudden confession if I may ask?" Godric said his dark eyes hard; they betrayed nothing.

Darla chose to ignore his question.

"I just couldn't warp my head around something, I mean someone, who could live forever. That's just got to be about the saddest thing ever. Never dying, I couldn't stand it."

Godric continued to stare but resisted the urge to sigh. He had grown so tired of how offended the human race was at the thought of his existence.

"At least I thought that's what it was but that wasn't it, not really. I was just irritated more than anything. I thought 'really? Are you fucking kidding me? Fucking vampires' and that only meant that there was more you know? There was a whole world, a whole dimension that hadn't even begun to fuck me up and it was out there and that just fucking irritated me. I thought – I thought that maybe I had the world figured out. It couldn't hurt me anymore than it already had but when you all came out, it proved me wrong. I felt so irritated and tired."

She paused, again gauging his reaction. He was completely focused on her now. He looked perplexed by her confession. Why had she told him this? He was neither priest nor confidant to anyone not even himself. There was no reason to tell him anything of her feelings or of her fears, irritations etc. There was no need to share any of herself with him but how could he deny that he did not want her too?

That's what this was all about wasn't it?

"I suppose, if I remember correctly, that how I felt as well." Godric picked up his magazine again though this time he leafed through it without really focusing on anything he saw.

"When vampires came outta the closet?"

"No, when I became aware of the existence of vampires."

Darla felt that only familiar pang of burning hunger in the pit of her stomach. The demon, the black hole at her center seemed to cry out for something, anything to devour. It wanted suffering.

"And when was that?" Darla replied encouraging him to continue.

Perhaps she had been too encouraging for Godric eyed her out warily. She smiled back at him like a child who got caught sneaking a peek. He seemed far too suspicious of her to continue and Darla was certain that they would lapse into silence again but he surprised her.

"Over 2000 years ago, when I first became a vampire."

"You like saying that don't you?"

Godric shrugged. Two thousand years was no small amount of time. There were very few who could boast such an impressive length of existence and even few who could claim to have lived longer. Darla decided she liked it when he was vain even if it was such a small sliver of vanity. It made him seem human.

"So what was it like for you?"

"Frightening I suppose, it is a strange thing to claw back up into the air from the dirt like an animal. I gasped for air though I needed none, my lungs were useless bags of foam that no longer served a purpose."

"Creepy."

Godric seemed not to hear her input but he heard everything, the porter couple in the next room over making love in one of the hospital beds, the woman dying of cardiac arrest all alone in her single just a few doors down. He could hear babies being born and old men dying in their sleep. He had heard Darla's opinion of his experience.

"Yes indeed, I supposed I had felt some sort of relief at my death. It was neither swift nor painless but at least it had ended. When I woke up again I was disappointed."

"Disappointed by immortality, rough."

He looked at her expecting a smirk or some other mocking expression to greet him. He was surprised to find that she wore neither. Instead she stared down at her hands in deep thought. She was picking at a scab.

"I am told that it is unwise to do that."

"Hmm? Oh yea bad habit. Doesn't matter though, no one cares if a hooker's got scars, no one cares about that."

Godric watched her for a moment longer. Humans were such strange creatures. So vain and proud yet full of self-disgust. Though he couldn't claim that he was very different, older and stronger yes but different? Not really, not very.

"You're not a hooker anymore."

"Is that right?" Darla continued pick at her scab.

"Yes, no more drugs, or sex for money – "

"What about sex for drugs?"

"No, none of that, you asked me to save you and I will. From others and from yourself, I've already resolved to save you."

"I wonder who is going to save me from you."

He considered her words. He should have taken that as a sign to stop. People shouldn't need to be saved from saviors. The logic behind that was simple enough but it just didn't register to him. Godric should have left, walked out, that was what made sense but instead he only replied.

"No one."

Funny how he never understood the concept of sin until he died, until he took that first sip of madness and majesty and his vision went red. He had never even known of God back before vampires and death and blood. Now there was barely anything else in his mind. So old and so tired all he could bear to think about were his sins, his iniquity. And could anyone really blame him? There were so many sins and so many ways to sin. Truly to do evil was far more interesting than to do good. His entire unlife was proof of that. So what was one more amongst the flock? He would steal the girl away. He would keep her and cure her and maybe one day if she asked he'd kill her too.

He thought of Sookie and wondered what she would think of this sin, of this tiny insignificant sin against one tiny insignificant girl. He wondered how she would react to know that it was her words that had led him to do commit such evil if only to do one good deed. She would be appalled.

"Then I guess we're stuck together."

* * *

><p><strong>So just a way ahead heads up cuz who knows how long it will take me to write the next chapter but I'm just gonna put a trigger warning for next chapter. I haven't been too good about those but yea.<strong>

**If you have had any problems with addiction or have gone through rehab or withdraws and it makes you uncomfortable to read about it then be warned that that's what the next chapter deals with very heavily if all goes according to plan. **

**Love you all and remember to review if it suits your fancy.**


	13. reboot

HELLO! This is not an chapter update and I'm sorry BUT! perhaps in a few weeks it will be. I've decided to reboot and continue WAMH. Be on the look out for updates :)


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